Painted Dreams
by Sunruner
Summary: FC Series. The effects of alchemy's release are still being felt and realized across the world, and there is a monopoly on knowledge. But what happens when even the expert onsite is baffled? Ghosts, grief, and memories... Duskshipping
1. Prologue: Two Faced Lies

**If I intend to make a proper name for myself with duskshipping, I have to keep writing it then, don't I? Unfortunately, I have to say it right away that this story has a distinct lack of Karst herself, as the story flows entirely from Felix's perspective from beginning to end. In fact I hint more strongly at other pairings before the dusk comes out properly. Oops?**

**Avril Lavign and Hans Zimmer as usual. Good music means good results. The intent here was a bitter-sweet oneshot, but a nifty idea has turned it into a planned multi-chapter! **

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_**Painted Dreams**_

**Prologue**

Two-Faced Lies

Lazy summer breezes… the sigh of quickened leaves… The smell of yellow apples hung in the air like a sweet perfume. The spice of fresh timber could be caught on the wind now and again, but the apple orchards of Vale dominated the landscape. Glossy leaves and yellow spotted fruits; they were the pride of the tiny village now that the mighty peak of Mt. Aleph was merely stubble hardly worth the climb.

This was one of his favourite places, just to sit and watch the _'goings on'_ of the village from afar. It wasn't a long distance, but it was a little tricky to get to. There was a rock wall to climb, not too hard, and a short ledge to cling to and across. It was nothing too difficult, but sufficient to deter most people from following. The mountain's collapse into the ground had forced large hills to form like ripples in a pond, and this one in particular had a bit of a cave in it. Sheer rock all around where nothing seemed like it wanted to grow just yet. Eventually, but not yet.

He liked it, this little place of his that looked out across the rolling prairies and forests to the south. Vale to his right, lying to the west of him, the endless forests and spotted mountains looming to the east. Even up here, away from the trees, he could smell the apples; it was a delightful place to sit. Even at mid-day it always calm, always quiet, completely free of the dust kicked up by anxious villagers eager to go about their business of building, rebuilding, and living.

It was quiet here and nobody ever followed him. No one was ever here but him; he'd never invited anyone, nor found any signs but his own of looking around or visiting. He could be alone here, he always was.

In the village, there were people. Many people, mostly friends, all kind and good folk, if a bit misled sometimes. They were true and pure, not without sins, but it wasn't worth it to argue the point with them. That sort of thing could cause too much discord and he was tired of conflicts; he wanted peace. He had his friends now, but how any of them had managed to survive from beginning to the end of their journey was amazing to him. They were such a diverse group, separated in truth by vast distances, but connected and together regardless.

His sister seemed to be rather popular around town, something he forced himself to not get frustrated with. She had a sound head on her shoulders… for the most part… and a nasty array of skills to enforce the meaning, statement, implication, and various synonyms of the word _'No'_. Besides, one of her most adamant suitors would be Mayor one day, and the other had proved himself- although he was lax to admit it- a good man and an honourable, if frugal, businessman. And a hero to boot.

They were scattered, yes, but foresight had already determined safe passage for the youngest members of their party when they'd departed several months ago. They'd learned much on their journeys, including the plight of nations all across the oceans. Nations eager to trade but knowing nothing of one another. There were still mysteries in the world, of floating isles and dreaded serpents. It would seem a ghastly lack of care and responsibility to any of the townsfolk, but he was content to let the two Clairvoyant Youths find their families on their own.

An isle of mists was working its way back into the world; that was important, wasn't it? Two branches of the same clan were coming together again, and for that the sole surviving member of the Northern Mercury Clan couldn't remain here in the temperate mountains, or higher in her glacial home. Maybe Mia would go back to Imil, but for now it was clear she was going to spend some time in Lemuria.

And that left him… here. Surrounded by his family in the village, connected with his friends through the power of the very world- they would never forget the bath of golden light which shone into their very souls. They were bound completely to one another. He was surrounded on all sides: good friends, a close family, and a strong if somewhat naïve community… But…

Up here he was alone. Here, where the strength of the rugged earth had forced itself up through the fertile grasses and leagues of forest and meadow. He was alone here. No one came here to see him, probably because he didn't want them to.

Every element had two faces, if not more. The winds, they could carry the sweet scents of the apples to him here, or blow with the fierce and icy cold to strip the very flesh from his bones. Water, warm summer showers here and farther and farther to the south, where the oceans ran crystal and blue like a bed of sapphires. But still water, water which could turn to ice, blackened with sin and anger, or could roil strong enough to toss a man's soul about like a toy and shatter it across the cliffs. Cliffs of earth, barren and grey, mournfully silent, or filled with the rush of sighing life, content and quiet always in the background, a cushion, a great bed. And fire…

Fire… which could banish away the cold of the wind, shine as a light in the distance of the storm. Be it to guide a ship or a soul, to kindle warmth and life in icy limbs where the body had frozen itself shut. Fire which could scour the world and turn the stones all black, but wasn't it always true that it's the darkest soils which reap the fullest crop? And yet fire is the one they all feared… Fire which is dangerous, fire which is deadly, evil and angry with its bloody red light.

Yes, every element had two faces, if not more. So like people. All seen for what they are on the outside, never removing their masks to be who they are on the inside, behind the smiles and the laughter. Or otherwise they simply drown under the cover of silence. On the outside, the wind is always cheery and light, bearing fruits of the calm and sober earth. And the water is always singing and dancing, no darkness or hidden currents pulling from below. And the fire is always dangerous; the fire is always evil, evil and angry, with no remorse or conscience, no hold on reality.

No hold on reality, nothing worthy of knowing because it is all inherently evil. Those of fire aren't proper, and unless raised to certain principals, under certain laws, there is simply nothing to them. Only those born in the village below him to the west were worth the shirt on their back, only they were worthy of being called human.

This was one of his favourite places, at one of his favourite times of year. Lazy summer breezes… the sigh of quickened leaves… The smell of yellow apples hanging in the air like sweet perfume… Because it was the only sanctuary and respite from the world where everything was a lie.

The world around him was so full, so startlingly, blindingly full. Full of colour, and sound, and people. Endless forests of greenery and life, of the earth giving forth its bounty, ripening in the warm breeze and under soft summer showers. It made him feel hollow, how could he ever take pleasure in such a lie…?

The fire in the belly of the earth; the raw power of it churning the world from within. A beacon of light, standing tall against the wind and flaring brilliantly in a storm of frozen water; the earth barren and dead beneath the ice and frost. No where else did the world know the true grace of the flame; of Mars' hot breath giving life where otherwise there was naught but grey and black?

He'd left behind him a land of truths for a life of exploration and adventure. And now his adventure was over, and all that was left to him was this world of lies. Only there, at the very edge of the world was their truth and peace, with water freezing the life of all in its embrace, the wind there to blanket and hide any remains of the death. The earth silent and mourning, giving forth nothing more than the icy brambles already coiled around his heart. A place where fire is all that it ever can be; the only respite, and thus, the only kindness.

"_You filthy weasel! I'm going to be the one to kill you…" _

The only respite, the only break in the monotony.

"_And I look forward to it, you angry bitch." _

And the _**only**_ kindness.

"_I'll take care not to die before then." _

He could feel it slipping, feel it breaking away, as though the tears from his eyes could work through the tact holding the mask of his nurturing persona in place. Because of course, to this entire world the earth could never be anything other than the womb of all life, the dark stone protecting all from the terrible flames beneath the surface, caressed by the soft spring breeze, cradling the pristine ocean…

"_You'd better not! Now get lost! I can't stand to see your snivelling face any longer!" _

Because in this world around him, nothing of the outside world could really exist, or if it did, it was always to be exactly as the old stories described it. With oceans of sparkling sapphires, winds with calming lulls across fertile prairie and thriving woodland. Dragons to the far north, pushed nearly off the edge of the world, where savages alone may thrive and exist.

"_Your… hands… they're…" _

Savages to the north, without any sort of human feeling, capable only of death and destruction. Seeking only to destroy, and encase the world in ravenous flames. No family bonds, no moral values, no ethics or honour, or any manner of order and society. Just savages with dragon skin and war-mongering habits. Savages. Monsters.

"…_so warm…" _

He pressed his hands over his face, hiding himself from the garish life and its narrow graces. He hid himself, doubling over onto his stomach as there was a sharp pain in his chest, burning up from the point where the bones fused together. Like the flames locked within the living earth, but he knew that not to be the case. Whatever had lain inside of him for years was dead now, it had died long before he'd first sat here and looked out across the village and the forests and the life. The final embers of it had long since cooled when he'd lain in bed recovering from a bath of golden light and a bought with death itself. Those flames had been squelched within him before ever the final aerie had materialized before him; it had just taken him many weeks for life to calm down enough for him to realize the void that had been left behind.

Only in that harsh land was there any truth to the world, so like himself. He was not the nurturing soul of the world to give life; he was cold and grey inside, dying. His tears had no sweetness of joy in them, only bitter remorse, and he could find no whisper of laughter in his heart, only choke on his own breath.

"_I had… forgotten…" _

Sweet Venus, but that he could have done the same…

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**So SHORT! How appalling, I always prefer at least eight pages, not four. **

**I snuck in lines from my Felix/Karst one shot, Power. It'd be funny to call this a _'sequel'_ to a one-shot, so it fits better to just call it a brief prequel. Yay. **


	2. Word from the West

**If you're reading this message then clearly FF is not bugging out and has successfully replaced the old chapter with this new one. No real big changes, but this's my October 08 revision of chapter one. **

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter One**

Word from the West

"Wait, it's from _who?_" Felix looked up from the maps in front of him as Isaac spoke, the fair-toned man standing in front of him was looking over his shoulder at the door. Garet's heavy-set presence was a welcome break from the maps and course charts. Felix's head was throbbing, and he leaned back in his chair to try and give his back a stretch. Ugh... they'd been at this all morning.

"Several people actually, but the original message is from Moapa." The three of them had finally lost the boyish signs of their childhood. What roundness had been left in Isaac's cheeks upon their return to Vale two years ago had been worn and worked away over the past several seasons of construction and business ventures. His hair hadn't darkened, retaining its sunny golden glow, but his face had matured enough so that his pale china blue eyes no longer seemed to dark or worldly for his years. His clothing was more sombre as well, a plain blue tunic over the warm brown of his shirt, dark tanned trousers tucking into boots hardy enough for work, but too soft for travel.

Garet was still a great beast of a man, his red hair a startling top to his darkly tanned face. Garnet eyes and still with a wide grin, he'd grown into his shoulders by now, along with his feet. Built like a firmly rooted tree trunk, his clothing was only somewhat more dressy being as he was now the Mayor's son, his grandfather having passed the mantle on now, bringing Garet effectively one step closer to the office. Doe-skin tunic hemmed with yellow cord to mimic gold, and a robin-red shirt tucked into his light doe-skin pants and boots.

"Moapa…" Felix murmured, trying to place the name which was familiar to him. Someone met on their travels no doubt… but that helped little to narrow the search. Leaning back in his chair, it was a relief to have Isaac turn away and fold his arms, clearly also trying to think.

"From… Hesperia, right?" The blond asked after a moment, and Felix looked up at him absently. Ah… right.

"The Shaman Village." He said, surprised a little by his own voice, he hadn't spoken much the entire morning, nothing more than to point out a few suggestions in the shipping routes they wanted to establish. They'd seen so much of the world over the years, so many places willing to trade their common goods for something seen as more exotic. It wasn't so much the money which had captured Isaac's imagination, just the possibility of bringing their new world together with trade and commerce. They'd been pouring over maps for months now, it was tiresome…

"Aye, he sent it first to Contigo, and now Master Hamma's sent it here." Garet continued, nodding and grinning widely, and it was the first time Felix actually noticed the large piece of folded parchment in the other man's hand. There were several sheets actually, which made sense since he'd already said it was a message from several people.

"Hamma?" A surprise there; and Felix couldn't help but feel his interest dredge itself up. "Did she send word of Ivan and Sheba?" It had been many months since last any word had drifted to Vale of the two wind adepts. Come to think of it, it had been just as long since they'd had any news of Piers and Mia too. He knew everyone was safe, could feel it in a way only the other members of their old party could understand, but still, it was nice to have firm proof every once and a while.

"Uh-huh." Garet was just nodding his big head cheerfully, in good spirits as was normal for him. "They've been researching and excavating all around the great pit next to Contigo. There's a small package of stones and artefacts for Karden as well, some things the two of them'd like looked into." Felix was going to point out the lack of said box, since it didn't seem unlikely to him that Garet might've simply left it somewhere unattended. But he wasn't given the chance, the larger adept simply speaking over him.

"Seems they're taking to the digging like a couple of sand rats," He laughed, opening the letter again and scanning a few words, reading a line or two allowed. "Like little golden foxes, scurrying around through ruins getting the winds blowing and uncovering things right left and centre."

"What's this news from the Shaman's about?" Isaac cut in, and Felix fought down the urge to roll his eyes. It seemed to him as if the world were slowly turning into a realm of business for the other swordsman- if it was even fair to call him that anymore. There was nothing wrong with taking on a practical profession, and it was honourable not to be fuelled solely by attaining unknown riches in the process, but still. There were limits to how practical and stoic one should be; something Isaac seemed to be struggling to find a balance with.

"Dunno." Garet allotted, shuffling the papers before handing them off to Isaac to read. Felix simply looked from one to the other before focusing his attention on the fire-haired Martian. "She said somethin' 'bout it being Alchemy-related though."

"Another reason to pass things on to Karden?" Standing, Felix knew he didn't really need an excuse to leave Isaac alone with his maps, but it hadn't seemed worth it until now to come up with anything better to do than compare sea charts from various continents and plan out wind corridors and mark treacherous shoals.

"Where's this package, Garet? Did you leave it somewhere?" He would admit silently to wanting to read the letters, but Isaac seemed too absorbed in them for the meantime. He might as well have a look; do something useful, or at least something to get him away from those cursed maps.

"Ah, Jenna's got it." He answered simply, and Felix felt his eyebrows climb just a little at the thought of his sister being interested in old artefacts. "We were talking when the messenger arrived. He's a peddler from Vault; bunch of people down in the centre square bartering with him right now." No he frowned instead, that really didn't sound like Jenna. Passing up a peddler to take a dusty package to the old Sage?

"Are you sure?" He questioned, not sure why he pressed the matter, but it didn't really make sense. Jenna was as kindly towards the old sage as was to be expected. They'd all spent nearly a year and a half of their lives traveling together; he was like a grandfatherly figure to their party, but still. Jenna was only human, and the old man's stories and ponderings weren't the soul source of entertainment in Vale as they'd been during their journeying.

"Uuh… Well…" Garet was balking, and if anything that made Felix yet more curious. He was asking a simple question, what was there to evade? Watching Garet closely, the Mars Adept seemed to be trying to imitate a fish, his mouth opening and closing several times, but no sound escaped him.

"Garet?"

"Felix, come take a look at this." Torn for a moment, Felix could feel his gaze narrowing somewhat on the Mayor's large son, but turned as he was called. Isaac was still looking between the several pages of the letter, but as he came up the blond reordered them and held them out for Felix to see, pointing to several lines across the blotched brown surface. Isaac didn't let him actually take the pages however.

"Seems there's something going on in Hesperia." He explained, and Felix slowly recognized a large scribble in the corner to be a rudely drawn map of the area. Turning away for a minute, he went to the shelf behind the desk where they'd been working. Half of the main floor in Isaac's house had been converted into an office space for them to work together. Along the walls there was memorabilia from their journeys, a shelf full of small relics and art which had been both gifts and purchased by the party.

The shelf also had several shallow drawers, the sort for holding charts and long sheets of paper. Maps were kept there now, many of them copied or taken directly from the two ships their groups had used before merging. Piers had newer copies of everything they did; only the old parchment and leather images that were too weak for salt air and brine were kept here in Vale. He fingered through a small stack before pulling out two maps near and around the Shaman village, and although he disliked them for the most part, he had a feeling Isaac would want to take a look at them to double-check the locations.

"There a problem?" He asked, monotonously prepping the maps on the desktop with the small brass clips made specifically for keeping the curled papers down flat for examination.

"Seems so. Thanks, Garet." It seemed a bit out of place, the dismissal, but as Felix glanced towards the large Mars adept, he merely gave a large grin, a small salute with one hand, and then stepped out of the house and back into the sunshine. Huh…

"So…" He began slowly, not sure of the words, and trying to dig up the enthusiasm to really pay attention. "What's going on then?" Isaac was frowning. He didn't seem angry really, so much as he didn't seem like he knew what exactly to make of the words in front of him.

"Something about a cave." Isaac answered dully, turning the pages over once or twice, and Felix noted that most of the pages were written on both sides. Of course; Hamma didn't seem the type to go wasting parchment, or sending a package any more bulky than was strictly necessary.

"Several people've fallen ill in the area, I don't get it…" Felix found himself leaning back against the desk, folding his arms for a moment before pushing back and holding one hand out.

"Here, let me-"

"No, I got it." Isaac merely side-stepped away from him; and the other Adept sighed lightly. It wasn't worth it to push the subject; he was more interested in the parts about Ivan and Sheba anyways. "She thinks it has something to do with Alchemy, or that's what it sounds like. The three of them keep sensing a weird power around the cave mouth."

"And inside?" He asked, watching Isaac start screwing his eyes up trying to read the cramped writing. She'd had to write small so as to fit everything thing into the limited space on the page.

"They won't go inside. Something about the local traditions." Shaking his head, Felix gave a heavier sigh this time.

"Why tell us then? Just current events?" Seemed like a waste of paper. It would've been more useful or informative to just go on about the artefacts and the weather than some place where Alchemy was making changes. Alright, yes, it was an interesting topic to discuss, but impractical for letter-writing.

"You're not going to believe this next part." Isaac said, finally with an air of amusement to his voice, but there was a frown mixed in there which told him it wasn't all for fun and laughs that he pointed this out. Felix didn't answer him, just looked blankly in his direction, awaiting this unbelievable news.

"She wants one of us to come and check it out."

"…? What's so hard to believe about that?" He asked, something must've flown over his head. He didn't understand what Isaac meant and apparently it was mutual, the blonde's smile fell just a bit at that.

"Felix, we've got to much work around here." He complained, and had he the will for it, Felix would've clapped his hands up over his ears. "We can't just pick up and run across the world on a whim. We've got plans to follow now. I'll be riding into Kalay in the next fortnight to discuss the Silk Road. And Piers is already-"

"And Piers is sitting in Lemuria drowning himself in draught and reacquainting himself with everyone in the city." Felix cut in, shaking his head and keeping a third sigh from forming as he didn't know why he bothered pressing the issue. Was it even worth it? "If Hamma wants someone to come, do you mean one of us specifically? She's got Ivan and Sheba right there with her… Here, let me see that."

This time at least he was successful in getting his hands on the letters. Scanning them briefly, the writing was even more cramped than he'd thought, no wonder then why Isaac had had to squint so much to read it.

"She means a Venus adept specifically." He stated bitterly, though Felix for the life of him couldn't figure out what there was to be so worked up about. "As in you and I."

"'Adept' is singular, Isaac. She means one of us." He countered, frowning as his tone came off a little to sharp for his liking. He didn't want to get into an argument now over something so stupid.

"You've become really callous lately, you know that?" …Oh, by the Gods, this had to be a joke.

"…What?" Looking the edge of the papers at Isaac, there was a grim line in the place of the other man's mouth, and Felix tried to wrap his numb mind around the idea that he might've just been insulted.

"You heard me. Is something the matter with you? You've been acting so cold and uncaring lately." His arms were crossed over his chest, and Felix had to rethink one of his earlier observations; no, Isaac still wasn't entirely grown up, he could still pout like a child and make his face round out while he was at it.

"Haven't been sleeping." Absently tossing the words out to satisfy the nosey entrepreneur, Felix busied himself with the letter, only to be interrupted again from his reading shortly after deciphering, 'Dear friends'.

"Not sleeping, not talking, and not contributing anymore. You wander around like a ghost; you don't even care about our work at all. This isn't like you."

'You're one of the last people to go making any assumptions about-' He bit back the thought before it could become words, words that would only land him in an argument, something he didn't want to have to deal with right now.

"I'll go." He said suddenly, cutting through anything further Isaac had to say. Turning around fully as he spoke to glance over the map on both the letter and desk, he still didn't know what he was agreeing to, but he did it anyways. It shut Isaac up at least, the blonde just stood there staring at him for a few stunned moments, and when he opened his mouth to speak Felix turned around again and cut him off good and short.

"If they need an Earth Adept, I'll go. Clearly Ivan and Sheba aren't able to do much there." He thought that might be enough, but then Isaac tried to speak again, so he barked up and continued, building his case only as he went, hardly aware of what he was saying.

"It's a cavern, meaning it's in the earth and you know how that makes them feel. Your stomach drops as fast and as hard as mine does at the thought of an island floating high in the sky- that's just not natural. You know how they get inside caves and small spaces, I'll bet you anything Hamma gets just as queasy as Ivan does in cramped places."

"Felix-" Venus damn him! There would be no arguing today! He was sick of arguing, he was sick of having people trying to make decisions they had no place or business making!

"If it's Alchemy then four heads are better than three, Isaac. You go to Kalay next fortnight, I'll start making ready for a trip to Loho."

"Loho!?"

"How else?" He replied stiffly, feeling his back straightening out although he hadn't been aware of slouching at all recently. Isaac seemed to notice the change though, something about him changed just a bit. "It's West, straight over the mountains. What, do you think I'll get lost in our own backyard?"

"That's not what I mean." Isaac finally cut in, lifting his hands up and making a calming gesture, something which irritated the other man without a real reason for doing so. Damn it all, he was calm. "I just don't understand, why the land route of all ways? It'll take days to cross the mountains."

"And it'll take longer to go south through the cities and the markets, and catch a ship from Lalivaro through the Madran Canal." And Venus alone only knew how well he could time that trip. So many weeks of their journey had been spent doing little more than sailing the endless oceans from Gaia Falls up and down the Gondowan coast. Catching a ship along the still-unfamiliar commercial passages from Lalivaro south to Indra would take months.

"It's safer." The way he said it just- It just…!!

"Maybe I could use the exercise." He retorted sharply, gritting his teeth against anything more potent he might've had to add to that statement. Damn it, damn it, damn it, he didn't want to argue. He was too tired in his own mind to want to go seeking out anything like this.

"A trek across the mountains is no light jog, Felix."

"Why thank you, Isaac. I could never have figured that out on my own." Isaac just gawked at him.

"Perhaps the Teleport Lapi-"

"Venus Damn it, Isaac! I'll go my own way!" The sound of his hand slamming down on the desk startled even Felix himself. It took nerves he didn't know he still had anymore to keep from jumping as he slapped the letter onto the desk, unread and abandoned as he turned his back and snatched up his gloves where he'd tossed them down on a small table by the door.

"What in Mars's name has gotten into you!?" Isaac's voice was like a bellow, and in the back of the house Felix thought he heard something shatter across the floor like china. He'd forgotten that Dora was in the back, getting her baking ready for the day, but he didn't spare Isaac's mother anymore thought than that as he rounded on his friend, and could feel his temper licking at him like hot flames. He was a mixed element after all; he could feel the touch of Mars every now and again when harried well enough.

"Nothing has gotten into me!" He shouted back, but quickly curbed the volume and put a firm hold on his temper. Not now, not for this, it wasn't worth it. "It's the most practical way to get to the Western Ocean; I can't go taking several other people with me to power the Lapis just to step in on Ivan and Sheba and see how they're doing."

"If it's just to step in, then what better method is there but to take the Lapis?" Isaac seemed to follow his example, not shouting again, but his voice was still struck with an undertone of bull-headed resolve and disapproval. And to Dullahan's Feast if he needed Isaac's approval for anything!

"Maybe the trip will do me some good then, ever think of that?" Damn it all, control, he needed control. This was not something worth the anxiety and hype of a full argument. Why couldn't he just control himself? Everything he said just kept coming out with more and more fury!

Whether his words struck Isaac to silence; or something else completely, Felix didn't care, he wasn't going to stay and find out. Isaac didn't say anything more to him as Felix turned sharply on his heel, pushing through the door Garet had left ajar when he'd taken his leave earlier.

The summer was still bright and young around him as he left Isaac behind, standing there silently. He couldn't see for a brief moment, the glare of the sun playing tricks on his eyes after the dim interior of the other Adept's home. The scent of the yellow apples came to him strongly however, with a sweetness which seemed too false for his taste, too strong, like the southern sweets of honey and fine dough far, far across the oceans. Places like Madra and Alhafra, where it was always hot no matter what the season, and the food spicy and brilliantly colour to match.

"I'll go my own way." He muttered darkly under his breath, hardly sparing a nod for the one or two people he passed by as he moved into the village proper.

Isaac's family had been given a place of 'honour' on one of the many rippling hills at the base of crumbled Mt. Aleph. A line of trees separated them from the small creek which was already growing to replace the old river from the village years ago.

All of their homes were along these ridges, greatly resembling the old layout of Vale before the eruptions and destruction of Sol Sanctum. He and Jenna lived with their parents across the village to the east. Isaac's home was here to the west. Garet's family was of course given the highest plot in the village given that they were also the line of the Mayor. Ivan, Sheba, Mia and Piers had also been given small homes set aside at several of the nicer plots of land around the base of the old mountain.

Ivan's home was planned to go near Karden's across the river, though it was currently vacant like the other three. Sheba had a plot of land to her name near the orchards though she had made it clear before leaving that she didn't intend for anyone to build anything on it for her until everything else in Vale was finished first. Mia had more or less been given rights to dig into the mountain simply because it was close to the sanctum, and Piers's undeveloped lot was near a calmer stretch of the new creek, where it was expected the water would form a large pool once the currents had a chance to define and order themselves.

But even as he noted and visualized these places in his mind, he couldn't for the life of him figure out why these vacant plots were supposed to be so important. It frustrated him, the emphasis on what land to build on and what to leave alone, as if they were somehow more important simply due to whose eye they had caught or how high they stood on the slopes of the collapsed mountain.

He was grinding his teeth as he went, dodging looks and trying to avoid as many nods and glances as he could. He wasn't in the mood. He didn't want to be harassed or followed about right now. He wouldn't begrudge these people their apparent fascination; most hadn't ever set foot outside of Vale before the evacuation two years ago. It even did him some good now and then to take a walk around the village and have two or three of the village maidens absently try to fall in step with him. But not now, by Venus he wanted none of it just now.

'Your… hands…'

"Damn it, I'll go my own way…" He was clenching his jaw tightly now, breaking through the crowded morning square. Garet was right, there –was- a peddler in town; he could hear the shouts of the bidding wars from here. He turned up one beaten dirt lane, moving as swiftly as he could without running.

"…my own way."

There were stairs cut into the new layers of mulch and settled stone, and he took them in great leaps to climb the rise, moving steadily more eastbound towards his edge of the village. He passed the hidden trail which would take him to the rock face and the lonely cave, not turning to follow it as he didn't trust himself alone at this moment.

'They're… so warm…'

Their home was two levels now, blue shingles sparkling in the sunlight as they were made of the cheap blue stone which had been forced out of the ground by the eruption. Windows framed with blue detailing he'd spent Jupiter-knew how many hours sanding down into gentle curves to meet his mother's standards of perfection. The door was stained blue as well to match it, and didn't give the slightest squeal as he swung it open and stepped inside.

'I'd forgot-'

He slammed it shut behind him with the force to make the windows in the wall next to him rattle slightly. He couldn't take it, couldn't take it. What was wrong with him? Why was he so worked up over something so small? He couldn't help it, but why? He felt himself sinking back against the doorway, mouth open as he hadn't realized he'd been running the last little ways towards the house. He was so out of breath, but he shouldn't have been, so why-?

"Charles?" His mother's voice came softly from somewhere within the house. She was calling for his father, and he couldn't find the breath to correct her, simply felt his knees growing weak as he sank down to the floor in front of the entrance. He couldn't think right now, couldn't reason out his own actions, his behaviour.

"Did you find Kyle about those hound pups- Oh! Felix, you're back!" His mother's dark red hair was tied up behind her head as usual, her eyes a shy crimson colour which gave her a soft sort of presence when she wasn't angry or disapproving. She was drying her hands on the white apron around her waist, a dark purple dress running from her neck down to her ankles; it was made from a charming piece of fabric Jenna had bought a large bolt of one time in Izumo. It looked good on her… though he didn't know why that mattered now… Why it ever had at all…

"Felix..?" There was a frown across her face, concern touching her eyes, and that bothered him, though he couldn't really say why. Obviously she was his mother so he should've been worried to see her distressed, but all of that felt far away for now. All so very, very far away…

She came up to him almost silently before kneeling down just in front of him, and although he felt as though he'd suddenly been clapped in lead weights, he looked up at her as she spoke to him.

"Felix… what's wrong?" She asked softly, the words 'Nothing, I'm alright' came to him immediately, second nature, a developed habit. But he choked on them, just as Garet had choked on his answer for where Jenna was, and how Isaac had choked on his indignation. Now it was his turn, the words died before ever clawing their way up his throat.

"I don't… know…" He croaked gently, and watched as her frown deepened ever so slightly with concern. No, wait, he hadn't wanted that…

"Maybe you should go upstairs and get some rest." She suggested softly, taking up one of his hands with both of hers. He hadn't noticed how small her hands were before, or if he had, it was a detail he'd chosen to forget since then. He hadn't put his gloves on after leaving Isaac's house.

"I can't, I-…" They died, the words just turned to dust in his mouth, and he had nothing to say. What was wrong with him? What had gotten into him- or rather was it a question of what had gone out? He felt cold inside, so cold…

He nodded to her, numbly, seeking to appease her even as it seemed impossible for him to reclaim his feet. He wouldn't let her help him up. He wasn't a small boy anymore, he was a grown man. He'd been grown even before leaving Prox to set out on the journey to Unleash Alchemy, so he was certainly still so now.

And then, miraculously, he was standing.

"I'll send your sister up when dinner's ready, I'm boiling up a chicken for some soup." So that was what he could smell. It was a warm aroma of boiling meat, wafting through the house slowly from the kitchen in the back. He had one hand on the banister to head upstairs before glancing over his shoulder at her, seeing the concern still touching her rose-coloured eyes, and he almost choked again, if only that it hadn't been her face, maybe he wouldn't have said a thing.

"In a few days, I'll… I'll be going west…"

* * *

**I love the pace of this story x3**


	3. Chasing the Sun

**Pearl**** Harbour Theme and _'Tennessee'_ track. Last Samurai; Theme. Hans Zimmer but a dash of Avril to keep it going till the end. **

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Chasing the Sun

Two days later, he was indeed heading West.

He took with him only what he felt he'd need. Only what he could carry. An enchanted sword seemed too much for him, but he couldn't reason a way to leave the Sol Blade behind, its silvery edges had gleamed in the setting sunlight before he'd turned in to bed the night before. It was only that morning when he finally gave in and strapped his companion sword to his belt instead of the plain steel blade he'd considered bringing along instead.

Perhaps there was more of the warrior left in him than he'd thought, because he'd ended up repacking before dawn, replacing all the ruddy leather armour he'd planned on taking. It was shimmering chain mail lighter than any other alloy which was draped across his torso under the patterned seams of his outer vest, and there were psynergy symbols stitched into the inner lining of the gloves pulled down over his wrists.

He tried not to take any further luxuries with him however. No books, not even a diary, two shirts, another pair of trousers. A small tin cooking set for his meals and two purses of coin to keep him housed and fed for his journey. A length of twine for traps, some flint for striking a fire since no one was coming with him. Some proper rope was belted up around his shoulder too, just in case. A water skin, a sleeping roll, plus a bit of oatmeal, bread, and dried meat in case he couldn't catch anything for dinner. Two long but practical knives tucked- one into his boot and the other at his belt- for skinning meals or fending off any silly bandits trying to get at his purse.

He was sceptical of the latter however, as he was currently striking out into the wilderness. No self-respecting thief would hold up in the endless woods and steadily more barren terrain to the North and eventual South-West. It was wild country up there, to the South eventually through the mountains, but still too far West for the danger of populated roads to reach the mining settlements. Loho was his destination, the largest mining settlement on the Western Angaran coast. It was so isolated that often times people to the East tended to forget they were even there.

Vale certainly didn't know about the West, their minds were closed to the world, always had been. He could've told them all that the men from Loho were ruddy-faced gremlins, half-men who ate rocks and jumped out of the ground to scare children, and they'd have believed him. The people of Loho could be just like the fire-breathing savages to the North if he told them so, Venus knew no one had ever bothered to correct them about their_ other_ foolish beliefs.

He hadn't seen Isaac before leaving, and that suited him well enough. The two of them were friends, yes, but still, there was a limit to how closely they could interact with one another when things weren't completely at ease. Isaac had gone racing around the world to destroy the '_heathen savages'_ who had violated Sol Sanctum, like a lapdog for the Priests of Vale. It was difficult for Felix to forgive that, forgive the hate and contempt bred from misunderstanding and miscommunication. Isaac hadn't hesitated to strike down Proxians atop Venus Lighthouse; and Felix liked to think he wasn't as blind or naive as his counterpart. Even seeing Prox itself hadn't really changed Isaac's views of the Fire Clan, his bias was just as bad as the rest of the village.

Aside from Isaac, there had been little to comment on for his leave-taking. He'd had to wait around a bit for Karden to begin reviewing the Artefacts from Contigo- it seemed Jenna really -_had-_ passed up the Peddler to visit the old man, a shock to say the least. The Sage's ecstatic reply was tucked safely inside the small travel pack Felix had slung across his back. The old man had lamented rather loudly at not being able to accompany him to Contigo and more closely examine the source of the artefacts. He simply hadn't had much time for that sort of thing while they'd been traveling about for Alchemy and the Lighthouses. But his age was catching up with him, and even as it was summer now, Felix's mother had already expressed her displeasure at he_ himself_ having to winter over across the ocean.

And Wintering was all very likely, perhaps enough so to explain Isaac's firm disapproval. Unless he was able to arrive and help settle whatever the dispute was in a matter of days, the water-ways into the Shaman village would begin to freeze up, and not even Felix wanted to travel an unfamiliar land in the dead of winter...

Now, traveling in _itself _was another matter entirely. He was only hours from Vale on his first day before he was already beginning to feel better. Better compared to, and because of what, he wasn't sure, but there was something soothing about being away from… everything? The open sky stretching overhead, the road left behind him now as he crossed stretches of meadow before plunging into forests of birch and oak.

His mind did not fall into the same monotony of thought that first day, or the second, or the third. He moved quickly into the highlands, passing through the loWest joints between mountains, following glacial streams fed from the icy North. He was going to end up traveling over the mountains northbound for several days, before eventually shouldering down South to find the coast and mines.

The flora would alter itself drastically within the space of the sun's rise and fall, from barren plateaus of shattered stone to deep woods of evergreen and carpets of brown needles. It took him roughly a day or so to get back into the true mindset of being a traveler. It was a remarkably short amount of trial and error, considering he hadn't traveled the wilderness in several years, nor had he ever done so alone.

His pack needed to be reordered, but soon enough he remembered how best to settle his water against his belt- allowing him to reach for it and then put the bulky skin back into place without breaking stride. He was rained on only once, and although it soured him just a little he wore through the shivery next morning. He lost a bit of time on that fifth day, building as large a fire as he could manage without cutting wet wood and working his things out to warm and dry them at least a little. He paid more attention to the weather after that, remembering that he wasn't in the company of two wind adepts, the sort of people who could read the clouds like an open book and spell out the next day's forecast.

His mind remained alert, constantly so. Navigating the mountains was not the same as following a beaten path, there was little time to dwell on his past, to think on his friends his family or his life. He slept soundly for the first time in recent memory when he collapsed on the seventh day, not even bothering to light a fire or set traps for his meal next day. He paid for that of course, waking up stiff and shivering come dawn, and having to sulk over plain porridge and hard dried beef.

It took him over a fortnight, nearly sixteen days in total before he caught his first whiff of the cool ocean. It took him by surprise really, he was only just thinking of breaking for lunch when he caught it. At first he thought it only the smell of fish in the river he was following West, but then he caught it again, and it was definitely ocean. He spent that night sleeping just inside an abandoned mine-shaft, a clear sign that he was coming closer to the second half of his journey. But it couldn't be helped. He followed the road from the old mines, and the next day, his eighteenth since leaving Vale, Felix stepped into Loho.

The settlement sat in the bosom of two large mountains, a plateau of sorts between them where the bounties of the hard earth had spilled forth when the first miners had come in search of precious metals. It was within sight of the ocean, but had no proper port of which to speak. The beach was long and pebbled, nearly a mile or more of sloping beach towards the foaming waves. They were calm waters, dotted in several places by small shacks where oysters, muscles, clams, and other shell fish and crustaceans were gathered for the townsfolk.

The home of miners and ancient stones: Loho. A grey town, one built almost entirely out of rubble and ruins. Loho was only the name given to it now, but it once must've had a far more grand title, and perhaps Alchemy would help it rise from the ashes just as every strike of pick and spade brought a bit more of the past back into the light of day.

It wasn't a dramatic affair, nothing really startling about reaching the miners town. If anything, he was more surprised by not having come across any other settlements beforehand. He entered the ancient, unearthed gates of the walled town on the back of a wagon carrying crates of black stone down from one of the active mines. He wasn't in need of money when the coachman drove up to a large building belching black smoke, but the driver was thin and frail looking, so Felix offered his assistance with unloading. He earned a meagre bit of coin for his trouble; but the coal wasn't heavy at all and he dumped it where he was told to by the soot-caked man inside.

"So, where's a spry young man like you headed? Lookin' for work?" There, that was the last of it. Waving one hand back and forth with a bit of a cough, Felix looked over the plume of coal dust towards the heavy-set blacksmith speaking to him.

"Me? No, not exactly." He answered, although he needed to clear his throat part way in between, and his voice sounded raspy in his ears. Then again, he'd gone a fortnight without really speaking to anyone, so that was to be expected. "I'm on my way further West, to the continent out in the ocean."

"Really? Shame that, I've been lookin' for a strong young man t' help around a bit." The other man shrugged, and Felix took his words as a compliment, the blacksmith had probably intended for him to and there was no harm done if he hadn't. "Old Gulliver's got a boat fit enough to go sailin' across t' Hesperia though. Lives out on the Northern cape."

"Really?" A bit surprised by this, it was a pleasant shock to say the least. The plan was to take a ship from Loho, obviously, but he hadn't been sure of how long exactly he might be left waiting for one to come along for a shipment of ores. "That's good to know, I'll be sure to check there. Thank you." The older man just threw his head back with a roar of laughter.

"Don't go thankin' me for something so small, young man!" He bellowed in a good natured manner, although it didn't keep Felix from feeling his knees buckle threateningly as the larger man slung one arm around his shoulders. "C'mon, it's nearing mid-day, my sister-in-law runs the inn on the main street. You're a good kid, even if a bit wet 'hind the ears, I'll have her set you up with a good dinner and a warm bed. Gulliver can wait till tomorrow, the old coot."

It was mid-day, yes, but Felix wasn't especially hungry at the moment. It was all a show of good sport, but it felt a good deal like being dragged along by his ear. He still didn't know the name of the man pulling him out of the shop, harrying him down the broken and dusty streets of the township.

"He's always had his fishing trawler, Old Gulliver, but some two years ago- you'll never believe this- a winged monster of a ship came prowling up ont' the beach. A ship I say, with wings! I saw it myself, so did Gulliver, and he ain't never been the same since!" The laughter must've been contagious, because even as he finally took in the greenhorn remark and made the simple connection to the winged ship, he felt himself smiling along anyways.

"Wings? Could this ship fly then?" He asked, not sure why he humoured the other man, but he did. It was good to speak again after the solitude of travel; he couldn't remember the last time he'd been without company for a similar stretch of time. Felix hadn't even bothered to disturb the Djinn in Sol Sanctum before setting out on this expedition of his.

"Fly? Straight and true like a bird it could fly! What're you laughing about down there, young man? I saw it I did!"

It was hard to remember that there was no one with him, no one watching him, making sure he acted a certain way, that he kept up to someone's standards. Every one in Vale was far away from him, and although his voice was sore from disuse over the last fortnight, there was some sort of thrilling freedom in that. He was laughing without guilt or anxiety before he was even aware of himself.

"A flying ship! What's the world come to?" He laughed; it was infectious, contagious, unexplainable and completely unheard of. They were both laughing, Felix still being dragged down the noon-hour streets but for the moment pushing away those thoughts. What did he care? He would never see any of these people again. If he was already moving slowly enough for the moon to be waning overhead each night, then he wouldn't be coming back this way until next Spring when the snows began to melt. He was falling behind on his own rudely planned schedule, but who in Mars' Grace really cared?

"They made off with our cannon to!"

"A cannon for a flying ship?"

"A cannon for a flying ship!"

The larger man laughed their way into the inn, and Felix had hardly noticed how far they'd come until the blacksmith was hammering down on the tiny bell sitting on the stone desk. There were stone tables tossed about the floor amongst square wooden ones which resembled old doors. The floor was grey slate covered with the occasional rug, well beaten and most of them covered with simple patterns. It had an appearance of disrepair, but there was no creak to the wooden staircase to his left as a woman with dark brown hair bunned atop her head came scurrying down to answer the call. It was a clean establishment, and there was little else one could ask for at an inn in a place like this, aside perhaps from a good meal.

"Owen!" She exclaimed loudly, patting down on her apron, hard soled shoes clicking against the stone floor as she came up behind the counter and stared hard at the two of them. "How unlike you to make such a big fuss; what's gotten into you?"

"Nothin' shameful, Leslie dear." He put down casually, waving one heavy hand back and forth to dismiss any worries. "I got a customer for ya. This here is… uhh…" Oh, right. He now knew the blacksmith's name, although Owen sounded a bit odd to his ears, so he might as well return the favour, late as it was.

"Felix." He said, and felt his face pull up into a smile, something almost alien to him yet it really shouldn't have been. He wasn't a depressed sort of person, so why was it he didn't seem to have much reason to smile in Vale? "My name's Felix, Miss Leslie, have you any rooms available for the night?"

She stared at him for a moment, seeming surprised by something he'd said. He wasn't sure how exactly to take this however, and felt an inkling along the back of his neck, the sort of tingle to herald another wave of anxiety… Instead, her face suddenly went red from the neck up, and she brought her hands up as if to cover her blush from them both.

"Oh, _Owen!_ Where did you find him!? Such good manners!" She squealed, literally so. Felix blinked at her reaction, had he said something wrong? "To think! I haven't been called _'Miss'_ in years. Oh, come around, dear; let's have a look at you." Had something happened to the water around Loho in the past few years? He couldn't remember being treated anything like this when he'd arrived as a part of a group of nine travelers. Was the world so much different to you when you went around alone?

"You poor thing!" He just blinked at her, stunned by how forward she seemed to be as one of his arms was tugged up by the wrist, she seemed intent on examining him from head to toe in a way which made him feel a bit too much like a new billy goat. "You look like you've been rolling in grime like a pig! How long've you been on the road?" Like a… pig…? He'd been able to laugh and humour the Blacksmith, but things just seemed to keep going off on tangents.

"Fortnight, Miss, a few nights more I think." Maybe he should find a different inn… "Didn't take the road."

"Didn't take the road!? You're not from Alsace then?" He simply shook his head no, and her dark brows vanished right up into her hairline. Quite the feat considering she had no bangs to hide them under. "Farther East?" And here he nodded, and her eyes seemed to grow in a way that seemed… strange to him.

"He's headed out to the Ocean too." Owen added, and Felix couldn't help but wonder where the conversation would head next… "Gonna go talk to Old Gulliver." Leslie was simply nodding her head slowly to show her understanding. It wasn't worth it to try and interrupt, but he made a go at it anyways.

"Um..? Are there any-"

"Rooms, yes!" How few guests did this inn receive? She didn't seem like she knew how exactly to handle his presence. A moment later he was being poked and prodded up the stairs to his left, and he had to bite down on his tongue to keep silent about it. Sweet Venus he'd slept in enough inns in his life to know how he ought to be treated! This was worse than being at home!

"First door on your right, sweet. I'll get one of the girls to start the hot water for you." Sweet? Much worse than home… Was this inn just strange or was this the price of traveling along?

Wherever Owen went, he didn't follow, and perhaps that was for the best. The second floor of the inn was marginally better than the common floor, it was extremely small and he had to walk sideways to keep from striking the door frames. There looked to only be two or three guest chambers, and the Housekeeper's hand snaked out from behind him to unlatch one of them and help him inside.

The room wasn't the best he'd ever seen, and was in fact rather close to the worst, but he let it go without comment. A bed was always better than stony ground, and besides that there was no foul odour or questionable spots along the walls or floor to make him worry. It was sparsely furnished, just two small single beds against one wall, a rickety stool, one three-legged desk, and a window set with bubbled glass letting in a bit of light. It was smaller than most of the rooms he'd seen while traveling, perhaps with the exception of the journey from Prox to Vale even before he'd set foot inside Sol Sanctum.

"You leave anything you want washed there on the bed; I'll take care of it while you have your bath." Looking back at the Housekeeper, he tried to smile, but it came out more like the ones Isaac blamed him for being stoic about. Was it so wrong to be put off by her… odd nature? She didn't seem to notice any of his unease though, just beaming at him before bowing herself out, shutting the door with a loud snap behind her. Definitely the price of being alone…

With a heavy sigh, Felix glanced once more around the room, noting the small mirror hanging over one of the beds, and actually took a moment to take in his appearance. He'd scrubbed his hands and face several times each day when there was water around for it, but was still a bit shocked at himself. His skin was practically caked in dirt from his travels, his dark eyes looking oddly out of place in a face which was much too dark for him. Now that he thought on it, his earthen hair felt stiff with grime.

He didn't want to think about his clothes though; he'd fallen back into the mind-set of a traveler. It was the state where one spent the day on foot, sat in the dirt for a break, slept on the ground at night and then woke up each morning to repeat it all again. For all he knew those extra shirts and pants were still good and clean with the exception of a bit of water from that infernal shower.

Alright, alright, he needed a bath. He could take a hint. He unbuckled his sword from his hip and set it on top of the covers, unhooking the coil of rope from his shoulders before shrugging off the small pack. He'd spent too many nights in other people's homes and inns to be completely trusting of them however, yet was struck with a sense of being out of his element when he noticed he was looking around waiting to hear someone speak to him. Right. There was no one with him now; meaning no one to watch the money or his gear and make sure it was only the laundry the Matron took… Perhaps there was sense in traveling with Djinn…

It took a few minutes of searching, but after prying one unsteady plank up, his fears of robbery were put to rest. The Sol blade hissed across the ground as he tucked it under the bed. Let her wonder where it'd gone to, it wouldn't matter; if it went missing he could easily get it back. No one here could very well hope to make off with the ancient relic without serious spiritual consequences, even Piers had gotten a headache when they'd first found the sword, and he was more than just a master of water.

He'd leave the room behind and start searching out the baths, bringing a clean shirt along with him along with that extra pair of trousers. Hopefully, tonight wouldn't be rabbit; he was more than a little bit sick of meat and porridge.

* * *

He slept right through the next morning, something which startled him. He wasn't used to sleeping so late, and it wasn't that the bed had been particularly comfortable either. It wasn't bad, but still. Back home, he never really slept that far into the morning, lest Jenna barge in and wake him up for something like cutting wood or helping her to lift something. When traveling in a group it was the same sort of thing, you didn't sleep in when there were eight other people all waiting on you to get out of bed. Oftentimes Felix had been the one who'd had to rise first and coax Jenna out of her pre-dawn slumber. Until they'd met up with Isaac's group, he'd been the one either always volunteered or simply not afraid of her menacing temper.

So, there was yet another difference about traveling alone. There was no one to berate him for waiting till the sun was halfway towards its Zenith before he lumbered downstairs. His breakfast of fresh eggs and fruit was also remarkably quick to come to him, and when he finished eating and tugged out his purse, he nearly choked on his final bite of apple when the Inn maid told him the price.

"That's it?" He asked, knowing he was gawking a bit, but unable to help himself. "Is that just for the meal?"

"No, sir." The maid chirped, a shy smile tugging at her lips as she began listing off expenses. "Your room, both meals, the bath, the laundry, all of that's included in the cost. Is something the matter?" Matter? No, not especially, but still…

"No, no, it's just… It was all a lot more expensive when I came through here last." Slowly counting out the coins for his stay, he had to say he was surprised. Part of him was glad he wasn't forking over the entire purse for this quality of care and lodgings, but on the other hand, paying fewer than twenty coins seemed almost alien to him.

"Oh, sir, that's too much…"

"You can keep the difference for yourself, I don't mind."

When traveling alone, the hospitality is almost inhospitable, but it's also a good deal cheaper. Unless the shipmaster was going to charge him daylight robbery, Felix had clearly brought too much gold with him from Vale.

He was glad to be gone from the inn after his meal and payment. The Matron had a look about her which wasn't threatening to him, but made him uneasy just the same. Especially after he caught sight of her whispering and giggling up a storm with the maid he'd tipped. The thought of there being some relation between the two helped spur him on down the crowded colonial streets.

He was thankful for the weather as he moved past heavy carts laden with coal and crates of ore. He was almost clipped in the head with a shovel or pick on several occasions just for being a bit too tall and a slight too close to someone using his tools for emphasis on the streets. Loho's markets held about as much as any other town or colony might've, and he was able to stock up his supplies a bit before heading out.

He'd only been using his gifts sparingly throughout his journey thus far, but he was too frugal to pass up the excellent price of the small, star-shaped yellow crystals one man was flaunting as a jewel for setting. He stepped in on several small shops, knowing his way around well enough in conversation to take a glance at whatever the shopkeepers thought too 'special' to be offered out in the open.

He startled one vender when he made what seemed like a very high offer for one item. But Felix knew the worth of his money well enough in the world. A vial of glittering liquid which looked like a thousand sparkles mixed into honey and oil was in his pocket before he finished his shopping. He picked up a new length of trap twine and some more preserved food for his pack before putting a cap on his spending and turning his attention North once again.

Sandy beaches and rocky shoals always have a habit of playing with the eye and mind. He could look out towards the cape and assume the distance could be covered in only a few minutes, but knew before he started that it would require several hours of careful navigation.

The smell of the salty brine was overpowering for him. Felix had spent enough of his time sailing around at the helm of a ship to know what the ocean was like, but damn him if he'd liked it very much. All that water everywhere, at the mercy of the wind and the cold with no solid land to give him strength. Oh, when the cards were down, yes he could take it. But there had been plenty of afternoons where he and his sister had been making very unpleasant noises over the side of Piers' ship.

If he ever had to try Kraden's home made sea-sickness potions again, he would throw himself into the ocean and drown. He firmly kept his mind away from the idea that he was going to the cape specifically to board a ship headed across the ocean…

* * *

"Hesperia?" The men in town had called the man on the cape 'Old Gulliver', and that didn't seem too far off as Felix stepped into the sea shanty. The rocks were covered in barnacles and brown sea grass all the way up to the house steps, but inside it was remarkably dry and firmly settled. There wasn't a spat of dirt or sand anywhere on the beaten rocks protruding from the surf, but Felix felt oddly at ease with the bare stone. It was living earth; that was all he really needed.

"I'll be headed out tomorrow for there, summer fishing an all, I want t' get at least one last catch before the winter storms start blowing in." He wasn't the boniest or oldest man Felix had ever come across, but he was certainly passing his prime. Still though, as they stood on the edge of the small wharf leading out into a small protected lagoon in the cliffs, at least the man had a calm assurance when he touched the heavy ship's lines. His body was thin, but his arms were corded in muscle, and his skin was hardened and darkly tanned from years spent out on the open ocean. "Hardly get a harvest season up this far. Straight from summer on into winter, winter straight into summer."

"I'm headed inland on the continent; do you know the way there?" He asked, knowing he hadn't brought along any of their maps with which to properly show where the rivers forked for them to travel.

"Feather-head territory?" He balked at the question, just sort've stared at the old man as Gulliver looked over him quizzically. "Feather heads, the ones with their rain dances and smoke signals, you mean them?"

"The… the Shamans, they have a mountain home near the heart of the-"

"Yeah! The feather-heads, I know where that is. I do good business with them sometimes. Never feel the draft at night bundled up in one of their good quilts." Feather… heads…

"If you know the way, could you help me get there?" He asked, not sure how to really go about with his request, but end of story this was going to be his best chance of getting as close to the village by ship as possible. If the fisherman was already worried about winter storms, then he was cutting it close to finish the more rugged part of his journey.

"…Well, it might cost you…" Trying not to appear to put out by this, Felix silently tried to steel himself. Hopefully, this would just end up like the inn.

Just like the inn, right?

* * *

**The last time I had a character travel across a continent it took between 2-4 chapters to get through. I had to co-ordinate timelines and events elsewhere in the story. This time I got the bulk of it done in ONE CHAPTER! HAH! **

**Oct 08 Edit**


	4. Stony Indifference

**Yes, in-game when you're low on cash you go out and fight monsters, but is that honestly a practical way to go find spending money? Especially when traveling ALONE?**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Stony Indifference

He had no money left. Hardly enough to afford himself a half-hunk of bread, and that were he if he'd be able to persuade a baker to give it to him for a fraction of the normal price. A part of him bitterly reminded him that he could simply have socked the old man one, or brought half of his house down. Felix could've caused a tremor of some sort to _scare_ him into doing what he wanted, but he'd seen that method of persuasion before, and had no taste for it. Besides, was it even worth it to get so angry over coin he hadn't needed for anything else?

But by Jupiter's Grace, his travel funds were _bleeding_. He had no idea how he was going to afford a ride home, and would probably have to rely on someone from the Shaman nation or Contigo before he'd be able to reach Angara again.

It was too late in the afternoon for them to depart that same day, but he was too tight with his money to simply hand over the entire payment in one go. Half of his funds were left with the corded old man, and Felix ended up combing the massive beach uselessly for an hour or so before finally returning to the walled colony.

He'd been offered a job the day before, or at least the offer had been strongly inferred, so he found himself headed for the smithy.

"I can't afford another night at the inn." He explained, not bothered by his situation, but not wanting to sleep on the broken ground in and around the city. He had no taste for having water dumped on him from windows, and forest floors were softer and more peaceful than broken shale and quarry stones.

Overall, the blacksmith laughed, he smiled; he cracked a joke or two, but otherwise put him to work like he asked to be. He had a basic knowledge of forges and blacksmithing, knowing certain details about when and how to strike the metal for certain tools, how to heat the materials properly etc, but nothing substantial. He was no Sunshine, and his knowledge of the forge had come from Prox where techniques were different anyways.

Pumping bellows, clearing away coal dust, shoveling fuel into the fires, he was given mostly the hard, grunt work to do. It was nothing more than what he'd expected though, this was only for a day, just enough to pay for another meal and a bed.

Felix'd taken most of his traveling gear off before starting to work, and by the time the sun was down he had stripped off even his shirtsleeves to shovel the black char into the screaming mouth of the forge. There were several other men in the shop as well, but he hadn't realized before since it was such a large facility. He and the trunk-like smith from before were the only ones working together at their one oven.

There was no bell or whistle to signal the end of the work day. Felix wasn't even aware of what exactly he was heating the forge to make, just developed his own rhythm with the brooms, shovels and pumps. He worked steadily even after his arms started going numb, and his long hair had to be tied back several times as he went back and forth from one task to another. There was no time for monotony or repetitive thoughts in between; he couldn't afford that sort of distraction when he unlatched the oven's side panel to see red coals glaring out at him like bloodied tiles. And that especially was a metaphor he wouldn't allow himself to ponder.

"You do good work, young man." When Owen came up to him, Felix's ears were ringing with the echo of hammer falls. He pushed away the last streaks of black dust from the stone floor before resting himself on the handle of the wide broom, and then finally looked at the other man. He was numb from head to foot, but it was the sort of exhaustion which was almost refreshing to him, like traveling through the mountains had been. When had he last had to use this much physical energy for anything? His mind was sharp enough from all those damned maps and numbers, but his arms felt limp now as he stood there, enough so that the quarry stone didn't seem so bad anymore.

"Aye, better work than that lay-about I finally told off a few days ago." Making a gruff sound in his throat, Felix didn't have the energy to grimace at Owen as the older man spat onto the floor at the mention of his former employee. He clapped one heavy hand on his shoulder like he had the day before, and looked him over seriously.

"Now, you said just one day's work; and that day's over now. I'll pay the tab at Leslie's for yah, but won't you at least consider the job more seriously now that you've tried the work?" The refusal and thanks were already on his lips at the question, but Owen held up his hand for a moment, and he kept his peace. "If you're headed somewhere then you're headed there no ifs or buts about. But if you're comin' back afterwards, give it some thought."

"I think…" He had it all planned and prepared, knew exactly how to express thanks and put any thoughts of his taking the job to firm and undisputed rest… but… "I think I _will_ consider it. I'll probably be wintering over across the Ocean, but when I come back… we'll see." He didn't understand where the response came from, but Owen's face broke into a large and lively grin, and he clapped him heavily on the shoulder a few more times.

"Atta boy!" He beamed, "Now, I'm not sayin' I'd be keepin' yah as just a grunge man either. Train you right and well I would, you don't flinch back from the fire, and you've got a solid hand with the stones- you listen! Best of all that can you hear me when I tell you t' get down or away! Yer a natural, and bein' good with a blade gives you just that much more potential!"

They were walking and talking again, Felix slowly gathering up his things, wiping his face off on the sleeve of his abandoned shirt and grimacing at the slick layer of black that came off him. Damn it, he'd hoped to stay clean for at least a _little_ bit longer than that…

"How d'you come by that?" He asked, picking up on something Owen said as he slung his pack over his shoulder, surprised to find it completely dark outside the smithy, the moon rising. That wasn't good; he was supposed to be up just before dawn and get to the Cape… "That I'm good with a sword, just because I have one?"

What was the point in asking something like that? Of course he was good with a blade; it wasn't something they needed to discuss. He'd had three years of formal training, several months of watching the real thing mostly from the sidelines, and then nearly a year on his own fighting and blooding himself in real combat. He didn't need to validate his skills to anyone.

"Come now, young man." Owen said lightly, coming up to him after splashing himself with a handful of water Felix'd seen him sticking metal rods into to cool off earlier. He was surprised though when the other man reached out and jabbed him in the chest intrusively.

"Excuse m-?" What was the matter with the people in this town? They acted so… strangely!

"A man doesn't get so many holes in his hide without having some means of protection. You've fought a lot, got enough holes in you to prove it, and yer still alive and fit, and you've got the nerves to stand strong. You ain't a coward, and you ain't no green-horn either." Felix just stared at him, having no idea how to respond to something like that.

He didn't tend to think about scars very often. In fact he didn't think about them at all. Looking down however, they were difficult to ignore. The sheen of sweat and the contrast of the coal dust along his arms and chest made the streaks and slashes shine across his skin. His hands were nearly white with them, so many times having had a beast sink its teeth into his fingers trying to force his sword from him, so often followed by hind legs rearing up to claw into his torso. Lethal slashes evaded with only a hair's breadth, clouds of burning gas, poisonous spores, scalding water or venoms. He hardly ever saw them though, it'd become like a joke to them all by the time they'd settled into their lifestyle of traveling and fighting. They'd just examine wounds and instantly expect a scar once it healed. They'd done it so many times after so many battles that the entire scenario had lost meaning by the end.

He pulled the shirt over his head as they walked, suddenly very conscious of the marks across his skin.

"I'll consider it…" He didn't feel quite right after that, the rest of the evening passing relatively slowly. Owen vouched for him at the inn, the matron just chuckling sweetly as she took the handful of coin and ushered the maid from that morning to get the water running again for him to bathe.

In all, aside from the intrusive examination, the night went on exactly as it had the day before. Only this time, he made it clear that he needed an early wake up call for the next morning…

* * *

And on that morning, it was raining. He didn't have time to do anything more than butter up a piece of bread and shove it into his mouth as he left the inn, his tab clear as the establishment was still cheap enough for him to afford it on a single day's wages.

Normally he wasn't one to mind the rain, but he couldn't help it as he tried to run whenever the beach sand would remain solid enough under his feet. He felt like he were being drawn down into clam holes and tide pools at random, rain sheeting down as the waves came across Loho's long beach in foaming torrents. Ill weather to start a voyage in, but even if the departure was going to be pushed back as a result, he wasn't very well going to just sit in town and guess at the older man's plans. If the ferryman didn't want to sail today, that was fine with Felix, the wind and the rain were giving him an uneasy chill, but he wasn't going to let the old coot set sail with his money!

"Hey!" The way the house connected to the small lagoon, he could see the wharf and boat from the ridge as he came running up the cape. The waters even in the protected shallow were heaving to and fro in a way which made him pre-emptively queasy, but what was most important was how the old man was visible on the deck, and he looked like he was getting ready to shove off.

"Hey! Wait!" Venus damn him! The last of the ropes were being tossed onto the dock, and there was no time to go breaking through the old man's house to get to the dock the good and proper way. He grit his teeth against the sharp feel of black granite and open molluscs which threatened to tear through the palms of his gloves as he slipped and slid his way down the rocks. He was sopping wet and his scarf was whipping around his head as his feet hit the boards of the dock.

"Jump, boy! Run and jump!" From the boat, the old man seemed to be having a grand old time, waving his arms widely through the rain to urge him on. Felix just bit his tongue against a sharp reply as he charged down the planks. The boat was moving back and forth with every wave, and was quickly beginning to inch its way around towards the open ocean. Damn it all, he couldn't jump that distance! The dock was too short!

There were crates and boxes tied down along the dock as he ran, and whether he did it on purpose or not, he wasn't sure. Well, he was mostly sure, but wouldn't admit to it. The world flashed a cold green colour past his eyes before a rush of heat from his chest burst out, banishing the cold from the rain as he swiped his right hand across in front of him. Several lines snapped and one crate moved past him with startling detail, tumbling end over end in his path as though the wind had caught it and kept it rolling. He didn't have the time to think it through or weigh the odds of success, the consequence of failure, or anything else of that nature. As the crate struck the water, he gave one jump and used it like a stepping stone, nearly sending himself face-first into the surf.

Had not the water been rushing towards the dock, he would've simply flipped over like a buffoon. Instead, it somehow worked, and he was clinging to the side of the boat: soaking wet, shivering in the cold, weighed down with all his gear with his sword tangling itself between his legs. To make it all even better, he was spitting flames as the ferryman jolted over to him and grabbed his arms.

"You son of a-!"

"Y'see that wind, boy!? Snapped the wires it did!" They were both cut off as the boat suddenly keeled over on its side, a flash of panic hitting Felix as his legs were being sucked down by the force of the water. It made his arms scream as the ship righted itself, the water reluctant to leg go as he nearly lost one boot before finally being hauled on deck by both the old man and the next wave.

"Where's my money, boy!?"

"Shouldn't you be steering us!?" In a way he had to be thankful for the storm, otherwise, it was all too likely that he'd be making a number of very brutal and black comments about leaving a paying passenger behind. As it stood now, he had to focus more on keeping himself from pitching back over the side of the boat as it continued to keel over from side to side. Gulliver wasn't listening however, one hand outstretched for the promised coin. The miser made his jaw ache trying to keep himself civil, rocking back and forth like a toy boat in a tub was not doing well for him.

"When we part ways in Hesperia, then I'll pay you the other half!" He had to say it three times, altering his choice of words severely before the old man finally scowled under his sopping hood to show he understood this new condition on their deal. If he didn't like it, then Felix would simply tell him that he shouldn't have had to_ leap_ to make it on board.

* * *

Spite was a terrible thing to underestimate. And an even worse weapon to fight with. No one ever wins in a battle of spite; after all, the whole point of one is to make your opponent absolutely miserable until they concede. But of course, no one ever gives up, why should they? They can just go and do something to spite the other person instead.

The old man had tried to set sail without him, and in retaliation Felix was now withholding the other half of the promised fare. The cycle had begun, but he hadn't realized that first windy and rainy morning just how badly everything was going go from there.

He was used to physically demanding work, and even though he'd been growing a bit _'soft'_ in Vale, it hadn't taken him long thus far to readjust himself to working hard with his body again. He was used to working for a bed or a meal, he'd done that in Loho for a day and everything had worked out well.

But he was also accustomed to the idea of being able to simply pay one's way through all the hard work they'd otherwise have to go through. That wasn't always the moral way of going through life, but when it came to a life he simply disliked, such as sailing around, he felt it was worth the bit of extra coin to spare himself. Most people, business men or otherwise, also understood this trade of gold for a more relaxing ride.

The Captain didn't.

He didn't call him Gulliver while on board the small fishing vessel, nick-named _' Stony Mountain'_- a rather inappropriate name as far as Felix was concerned. Instead, he called him Captain, because if he didn't the old man simply wouldn't answer him. At all.

He hadn't expected to completely get out of doing any sort of work on ship. Maybe mop a deck or two, coil some ropes, do make work since he had a fairly good idea how a ship in general should run. Granted, the sail-powered beast of a boat wasn't nearly as easy to power or pilot as the Lemurian Galley of his earlier travels, there was a lot more work involved in general. The simple fact that they relied purely on the wind to push them through the water added stress and strain to the journey from the get go.

He'd expected to do a bit of work on deck over the course of their voyage, which took several days simply to cross the waterway between Western Angara and Eastern Hesperia. They had to accommodate for the weather as well while they crawled south along the shoreline looking for a river delta deep enough to sail into.

But he didn't expect every task he carried out to be mandated rigorously. Didn't expect to be shouted at for not knowing how to run up the lines of the mast. He didn't know why he was set to gutting fish for hours when the Captain insisted on casting his nets out behind them as they sailed. He hadn't expected to be treated like someone special or important, but had to admit he was a little put off by how things went. Somehow, between the two of them he was the only one sleeping out on the wet deck each night, he'd found his pack having been rifled through at one point, and he never seemed to get more than half a ladle-full of runny, poorly-made stew each night at dinner.

All in all, it was a near thing when exactly fifteen days since leaving Loho, Felix found it very difficult not to cram the fistful of coins down the old man's corded throat.

The ship perhaps could've taken him farther than it did, but that would've meant spending far more time than he was willing to take being badgered and talked down to on board. He'd been on the road now for an entire month, a third of the season gone, and he still hadn't reached his destination.

But once the Stony Mountain turned away from him and vanished down the river's bend, he suddenly didn't mind anymore. So what if it was taking this long to get there? The rush was to reach the village and offer his aid, not to marathon from one edge of the world back to the other before the snows started.

Traveling north through the continent wasn't much of a change from Angara. Large expanses of wetlands, low forested areas breaking into high, rugged plateaus. It was easier to find his way as well, since he'd been this way before in his travels, he knew to follow the rivers from the large inland sea- well, it was fresh water, so it was more of a giant lake- north towards the mountainous heartland.

He was able to move quickly again, the voyage had ended for him at the northern shores of the lake, and he knew which river to follow. In only three days, he began to recognize the first real signs of the Shaman Nation. Occasionally across the river he'd spot a flash of white or red between the trees, not people but their marks, feathered poles standing to show where there was natural shelter from the elements, or good fishing depending on the season.

He'd forgotten just where along the river he would have to break away and find the caverns leading through the mountains to the proper domain of the Hesperian people. He didn't even know how close he was until he woke up on the fifth day and saw nearly two dozen bronze-skinned men rowing down river past him. In two large canoes of hollowed tree-trunks, a few had waved to him as they'd passed by, calling out quickly in their slurred tongue too fast for him to pick up what they meant exactly. He could make a guess however; one storm didn't herald the coming of winter, and as hunters they still had a village to feed.

He found the pass by noon of that day, and let out a long sigh of relief. Carved into the red stone of the mountains was the rounded doorway which led deep into a series of winding passages. It was a defence to confuse and confound enemies, but the traps he knew to watch out for were all disabled. Every trip wire was cut and coiled off to the side neatly; stones set to topple over were reinforced so as to stay put. He didn't need a light to make his way through, simply resting a hand on any nearby walls or stones, and letting his feet find the way for him.

The Shaman village and its surrounding settlements were all hidden within a ring of red and blue mountains, flat grasslands spreading across the gap like a green bowl topped with the blue dome of the sky. The spring of the river he'd been following was directly north of him across the plains, and it cut across the grassland to keep them from growing dry and cracked like desert.

It was another two hours of hiking to cross the bowl, and it was easy for them to see him coming. The main village was built up into the hills, and was accessible mainly via a sort of wooden bridge which he assumed could be easily torn down in case of attack. They were a cautious people historically, the Shamans, but still honourable and not the sort to raise an alarm just to see one man coming up the valley towards them.

"Felix!" He looked up unexpectedly as he heard his name, approaching the wooden ramp, the first of a series which would take him up across a small ravine towards the village proper. A cattle skull was hanging from the rickety wooden arch over the village's entrance, despite the babbling off the water ways in the town. Climbing a few of the dry planks, he felt himself smile and waved one hand up over his head.

"Ivan! Is that you?" A shock of blond hair told him he was right even before the younger Adept came bounding up to stand under the archway. It'd been just over a year now since he'd last seen either of their old party's two Mind Readers, and it seemed most of the old jokes about their small friend were no longer valid.

Ivan was perhaps… seventeen this coming autumn, and had grown considerably over the past few seasons. His hair was lighter than Felix remembered it, and that was quite the feat. Dressed all in white, his cotton pants and shirt were dirtied and a bit worn, and he had sandals on his feet instead of hardy traveling shoes. He certainly looked different, held himself different, dressed up like a villager he certainly wasn't vain for the dirt across his shins and arms. And when he spoke his voice had noticeably begun to deepen.

"You finally made it!" As Felix continued to make his way up the ramps, Ivan would come down several steps until they met up. Reaching out to one another, they'd grasp each other's wrist and give a firm yank, slapping one another once on the back before breaking the brotherly hug. He could feel himself smiling again, and ignored the weight in his limbs as the two of them quickly fell in step with one another.

"You knew I was coming?"

"We knew someone was coming of course, Isaac and you wouldn't leave us high and dry without any help." He kept his smile in place even as it threatened to falter there. Isaac had been willing to simply let the issue lie and let them figure it out on their own. It seemed although he'd grown, Ivan still held onto a lot of old attachments. Perhaps that was for the better though, there wasn't really anything wrong with it.

"So I haven't missed any of the fun then?" He asked coyly, the pair of them walking in under the gate, and Felix glanced around curiously as he noted several people- mostly women or children- pausing in their daily activities to give them a quick look or two. Of course, Ivan looked nothing like the bronze-skinned men and women of the Shaman Clans. Broad faces and dark set eyes, most of them had their hair braided and wore clothing of several layers of wrapped cloth. Ivan was dressed like them in part, but clearly not one of the people.

He noticed something else about them as they walked however, hide-stitched tents standing next to squat clay buildings as they moved through the village almost aimlessly. They seemed haunted, the summer heat hanging in the air with an almost morbid feel to it.

"No, unfortunately you haven't. We've been on pins and needles waiting for someone to show up. I guess Isaac was too busy then?" Felix let the comment slide, or at least the subtle implication that Isaac's presence would've been preferred over his own. It wasn't worth it to get into a petty conflict over the issue, the other Adept had selected his Heroes a long time ago, and Felix had stood on the other side of that line for too long to really expect anything more than friendly companionship.

"Yes, he was still deep in negotiations in Kalay by the time your letter arrived, it would've looked bad if he'd picked up and come here- however urgent."

"You didn't take the Lapis?" There was a bit of suspicion in the fair Adept's voice as he spoke. Felix tried to keep down any tones of his own which would hint at what he thought of Ivan's judgement.

"Like I said, Isaac was attending to important business. No one person can power it themselves, and I really couldn't pry anyone from their work to arrive sooner." Running one hand back through his stiff and grungy hair, at least he'd reached his destination now. There was probably going to be a good deal of work to do. "Oh, I have a letter for you from Kraden."

"Really?" Ivan seemed surprised at that, and Felix twisted his shoulders a bit trying to un-sling his pack, but then thought better of it. He'd much rather find someplace to sit down; perhaps wash up a bit first. It took Ivan only a moment or two of watching Felix abruptly pause before that became apparent to him as well.

"Oh, you might want to rest up a bit, huh? C'mon, I'll take you to the Chief's house and get you settled, my sister should be there." Even after two years since learning of their relation, Ivan's face still broke out into a wide grin as he mentioned Hamma, putting special emphasis on they_ 'my'_ part. Felix couldn't blame him though, he'd spent three years separated from Jenna, and could still remember being almost possessive of her for the first few months of their traveling together after Sol Sanctum. Ivan had never even known he had family in the world, his attachment could be understood.

"Where's Sheba? Is she with Hamma and Moapa as well?" Looking around absently as Ivan's steps took on a more deliberate gait, Felix couldn't pick out a second blond head anywhere around them.

"We were sitting up at Trial Road, I think she's still there, it's the only respite from that… thing…" Felix could hear the frown in Ivan's voice as he spoke,

"Thing?" Pausing for a moment, the blond adept turned and looked at him with a frown, though he seemed almost surprised by the question before answering.

"Can't you feel it?" He asked, "That sickening sensation in the air, it makes my skin crawl to feel it…" Giving a small shudder, Felix watched Ivan for a moment more, before closing his eyes. Breathing deeply, he'd try to block out the noises of the village around him, only to notice how they weren't nearly as noisy as they should've been. A troop of hunters had left for the day, but that didn't mean every voice needed sound so hushed, where were the children? He'd seen several of them, but there were none running through the streets of the village, no laughter, no shouts or squeals from the waterways through the red earth.

Then he felt it, coming in a building rush. A sense of it just grazed his mind for a moment, before growing like the heat of a flame, higher and hotter, sending a chill down his spine and causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand straight. It spilled into his mind uninvited, and he felt himself give a harsh intake of breath as it plunged down through his chest, bringing a fierce pain. And then…

_Crimson tiles shimmering like dragon's scales, climbing high vaulted ceilings and rippling over ancient columns. Pillars standing straight and tall like hanging serpents. _

He could see…

_A corridor so eerily black there was nothing beyond its end, a solitary flame suspended inert over some pedestal unseen. The ominous glow of stone turned liquid, his element melded fluidly into another, like the mixed blood in his veins... _

Something… there was… somet-

His eyes snapped open, and he could feel himself shaking violently. Looking around him now, the sunshine was too brilliant across the red clay of the Shaman village. Every gnarled branch of fencing or firewood was too sharp to his eyes, even the muted activities of the people shrieked and groaned in his mind.

Ivan simply stood there, watching him, but with a look in his violet eyes which held no judgement, something which seemed so false to Felix as he stood there with his pounding heart. How could there be no judgement in the hearts of others? It was impossible for the world not to know what he'd just seen.

"You didn't feel it before?" Ivan asked quietly, watching as Felix felt the strength seeping out of his limbs. Bending over, he placed his hands over his knees, trying to calm the thunder beating away in his chest, draw air into his tightened lungs. He simply shook his head at the question.

"I did, I just…" It was hard to breathe, that intrusive presence was still there, circling his head like a blanketing fog. "I wasn't… wasn't aware that it…"

"It's worse for you I think." Ivan's hand came down on his arm, and he could feel the other man help him to straighten out, taking some of his weight as Felix tried shaking his head free of the haze. It hadn't bothered him before he'd slowed down and felt it out, why could he not ignore it again now?

"C'mon, you're tired and probably hungry too. I shouldn't've brought it up so soon." He didn't need to be taken care of, trying to shake off the arm as no one needed to worry about babying him. He knew how to take care of himself by now. "We'll explain things once you get rested up, just try to calm down, it'll get easier."

Easier? It didn't feel any easier; he managed to bring himself up to stand straight though. He didn't know what to do with himself, every ache and discomfort from his journey was suddenly amplified across his body, he felt as though he were made of unyielding wood as Ivan led him along. What was that aura? What was wrong here?

What was it?

"We'll explain it, Felix. I don't know how much sense it'll make, but we'll explain it…"

* * *

**Oct 08 Edit.**


	5. Separate Camps

**Theme Song for Duskshipping: Avril Lavign's "Fall to Pieces"? XD I think of nothing but Karst when I hear this song. It's unfortunate that she doesn't have much of a presence here… **

* * *

**Chapter Four **

Separate Camps

He was hardly aware of the brief greeting and welcome he received upon arrival at the Shaman Chief's dwelling. The Chief was Moapa, a man with the broad features of the rest of his people, but with a hawk-eyed sharpness to him. A headdress of high white feathers crowned him leader of their settlement. He extended a warm greeting, and Felix quickly came to regret not having the capacity at the time to return it properly with thanks.

He was shown the way to an indoor shower, operating with run off from the streams outside brought in by a small cord. The water was like ice, but at least he didn't have to go very far to wash, and it helped to shock away those misty fingers. Once clean, he was given a bowl of seasoned meat and a large hot potato to tide himself over with, and was shown to the nearest bed. He was roused again near sunset for a proper welcoming and feast, at which he performed much better than he had earlier in the day. He ate heartily, and tried to wash out the taste of smoke in his mouth. He had no idea what it was the Shaman's put into their welcoming pipe, but it was potent and the taste stayed with him well through the evening.

Sheba hadn't experienced the same rush of height Ivan did, but the other Jupiter Adept had undergone her own changes in the year since they'd parted ways. Her colouring was even more of a shock than Ivan's; at least he had the sense to burn under the harsh sun. But to be fair, Sheba'd been raised in the desert. Her hair was nearly white from the sun, and her violet eyes shone in her bronzed face.

Hamma was another surprise for him; it wasn't hard to pick her out from the assorted guests in Moapa's home, her thistle-colour hair a rather strong give away. Their meeting was more cordial than Sheba's sprint and mid-air tackle, a few friendly words, a handshake. But she mentioned Isaac in a way which echoed Ivan's earlier disappointment, which he tried not to let bother him, but it did.

For a feast, it was a sombre occasion, that misty feeling around his head had turned into more of a ringing in his ears, making it difficult to concentrate. There were only a handful of people present in any light, Moapa, his young son- perhaps fourteen or so- his wife and daughter ate separately as they were the ones serving all night. So really it wasn't a feast at all, only the five of them technically sitting around on cushions and mats. For the most part Felix was surprised that he did most of the talking, Ivan and Sheba spending the night drilling him with questions about Vale, and how everyone was doing.

Kraden's letter was dragged out at last, a bit crumpled from the journey, but still legible and not falling apart. Ivan and Sheba ended up pouring over the Sage's reply, and Felix thought they looked like a pair of tanned, golden haired and violet-eyed twins. Finally, Hamma began to yawn, and Ivan's attention was immediately turned towards his older sister.

"It is late," Moapa stated with deliberate care. Like most people around the world, their dialect had a heavy accent to it, but Felix's ears were already attuning themselves to the sound of the Shaman People's odd slurs and stresses. "Tomorrow we shall meet again, and speak of the issues you have come here to solve."

Those words ended the evening. After making their goodbyes, Felix found himself poking his head into the kitchen, receiving a very startled look from the two women inside. It took him a few minutes to get his point across, trying to bend his own accent around so the wife could understand what he was saying, but once she finally understood that he was thanking her, she simply laughed and waved him off.

It might've been rude, but he didn't really need much encouragement to go down to bed, climbing the stepladder down into the small basement where several beds were set up. Since they'd been in the village so much longer than him, Ivan, Sheba and Hamma had procured a tent to sleep in, a sort of thank-you for their presence in the village.

Well, in a tent or under the family's home, it didn't matter to him. So long as he had a place to rest, he was happy. Nothing else really mattered, so long as he could get a bit of sleep…

* * *

He broke fast the next day with fresh berries and cream. Sitting in the large room which took up the bulk of the Chief's house, Ivan, Sheba, and Hamma soon arrived. They'd promise to get to work today, there was no sense in wasting anymore time than they already had waiting for his arrival- although he hoped that didn't mean they'd simply sat around doing nothing for nearly half the summer.

He had more faith in them than that however, and so paid close attention as Moapa settled himself down at the focal point in the room. A large woven blanket of red and violet hung on the wall behind him, adding a splash of colour to the mud-brick home. The head of a baton, ordained with several coloured stones and three long hawk feathers, was bobbing back and forth in his grasp. The Warrior chief seemed deeply troubled now, a sombre expression covering his face like stone, which had the look of perhaps having been there for many months. His bronze chest covered with nothing save several ornately beaded necklaces, but the robes tied around his waist were hemmed with careful beadwork.

It was craftsmanship like that which Isaac wanted to bring to the world stage. Felix couldn't help but wonder how long it would take the other man to reach his dream. It wasn't a question of whether or not it was possible, just a matter of time.

"My people are falling ill." The heavy warrior's voice broke through the habitual sounds of the morning. Felix settled his hands down on his knees as the other three arranged themselves on the mats. Yes, clearly it was time to be settling to business. "It is a sickness which I fear may be linked to something which has long been removed from this world."

"Several of the villagers have fallen into a deep coma since winter," Sheba explained thoughtfully, and he listened closely to what she had to say to him, able to tell she was struggling to find the proper words exactly. "We can't reach into their minds, or wake them with anything we've tried."

"Loud noises, small shocks, strong smells," Ivan added, listing off methods on his fingers, "Hamma's tried several draughts to no avail, and the Fortune Teller Omata is baffled like the rest of us."

"There's almost no warning either. The person just feels tired and goes to lie down, and then they never get back up…" Sheba was frowning as she spoke, and Felix found himself looking down towards the packed dirt and tasselled mats strewn across the chamber. The only one who hadn't spoken yet was Hamma; the other adept seemed to be examining the floor much as he was. The silence stretched.

"I'm not a healer," He said quietly, "Not like this at least. Your letters mentioned a cave…"

"The cave you speak of is a place which has been sacred to my people for Generations." Moapa broke in, drawing all eyes to him again, although Felix had the feeling he was the only one this would be news to. "It is a place where we have gone to cleanse ourselves of our sins and guilt since times unknown."

"Since before Alchemy was sealed away?" He questioned, only to have the Chief pause and give him a very guarded look.

"None of us have set foot in the cave yet," Ivan mentioned, glancing uneasily towards Moapa as he spoke. "Its entrance is hidden behind the Fortune Teller's tent, but we're not…" Ivan didn't need to finish that statement, Sheba puffed out her cheeks, Moapa averted his eyes ever so slightly, and Hamma was staring pointedly at the floor.

He could fill in the blanks easily enough. Hamma was revered in many places around the world such as Lama temple to the Far East, and in Contigo to the south. Sheba had a bit of status amongst the Shaman's as having been one of the four heroes- Felix himself being another- to have defeated Moapa in battle atop Trial Road. But that didn't change the fact that both Ivan and Hamma were Contigan to begin with, and that Sheba was close enough in appearance to the other adept to be taken as Contigan herself. The conflict between the two branches of the Jupiter Clan- North in Hesperia, South in Atteka- was centuries old. There didn't need to be active fighting so long as the legends of Yegelos and Hoabna still circulated actively around both camps.

The simple fact that the three of them were being treated so well in the Village spoke volumes as to how much the people were suffering from this 'disease'.

"The aura," He said quietly, sensing tension in the air, not great, but still, it was a distraction, a discomfort. "It's so strange, I hadn't noticed it at all until you pointed it out to me, Ivan, and now I can hardly think past it."

"I've seen it in the moonlight over the village," Hamma spoke up, finding her voice at last it seemed, though she didn't lift her lavender eyes from the floor. "It hangs as a miasma over all the houses and the homes, clouding the air and blinding our sight across the places of the ill, and funnelling itself into the cave behind the Fortune Teller's tent." The reason for her silence until this point became very evident as she spoke, the third adept looking pointedly towards Moapa as her words- though soft in voice- were harsh in tone.

Moapa did not miss either sign of Hamma's indignation, but as his face looked as if it turned to stone, Felix took a breath to intervene. He didn't want to know what sort of spats had already been had between the two of them, and even if things hadn't come to a point yet- although he doubted that, given the drop in temperature between the two- he didn't want to be put in a position to watch and listen to the two of them go at it. There was an Ages Old conflict fuelling the both of them, regardless of the current issue.

"Chieftain." Adjusting himself how he was seated on the floor, as the Shaman's eyes turned to him, Felix would rest one bare hand down on the compact floor of the room. He could feel something under there, knowing that down below there was a large empty cavity dug into the earth, reinforced with beams and stones. Where he sat now there was wood and hard stone, cut off from the living world, but alive still under his touch. The dirt had been carried in from generations of people coming in and sitting as they all were now. It was all so natural.

"I am a man of the earth." Natural; but still ever-changing. Pulling his hand up from the heel first, the sand and soil would collect around his palm, like a sheer screen. Lifting his hand higher as he spoke, his world would flicker with shades of dark amber and golden brown, each grain of sand which fell from his grasp clear to him as crystal.

"Have I ever given you reason to distrust me?" Cupping his hand, he turned it over, scooping down so as to catch the dusting fall. He never once took his eyes off of the sand, knowing Moapa's gaze was following just as intently. Wind and Earth were opposing elements, always would be, but as the sand collected in his hand and hardened into a perfectly round sphere; he seemed to have made his point.

"Your name is among the very few which mark the way to Trial Road." Felix handed the sphere to the Chief, a small indent on the floor showing where he'd pulled the material from to make it. The shaman took it in hand, closing his fingers around it with a tight grip. The sandstone trinket didn't compress under his grasp; it was strong, just as the world expected all stone to be.

"Do I have your trust?" There was a pause, the silence feeling drawn out as the Shaman's mouth twisted bitterly. The feud was between the two branches of the Jupiter Clan, even if they didn't see themselves as such. He wasn't of their element, he was in fact one of their opposites, but if it was something of Venus's alignment hurting the village, then wouldn't it be in their best interests to let him help?

Finally, Moapa nodded, the feathered headdress hanging over his dark dreadlocks ruffling with the motion. His dark eyes seemed like a wall guarding the way into his inner thoughts, and his voice was grim as he spoke, but it was the words themselves which mattered, not the sentiments they proceeded.

"Yes, Hero Felix, you have our trust."

* * *

Felix was surprised he hadn't felt the summer so much while traveling. Something about the heat and the sunshine hadn't affected him at all while he was journeying through mountains and over plateaus. Under heavy forest canopies and against glacial rivers, the state of things had been clear enough around him in mind, but in body it had seemed a season without a name, as though the threat of winter held no real bounds.

Well, simply put that was not to be had now that he was finished with his endless journeying. The village was a dusty place to be, and although he hadn't felt the heat for all of the day before while crossing the bowl to the gates, he could feel it now. The air was thick with heat, clouds of red dust billowing up under scuffling feet. The shaman people were all as bronzed as they'd been the day before, and always would be, but they parted almost shyly from their path like frightened birds.

They reminded him of birds as well, many of them hawk-like and frail, sketchy, uneasy with so many outsiders in their village, so many strange happenings. Felix felt his eyes blurring at the feel of that sickly aura in the air, those cold fingers grasping for his mind and trying to cloud his thoughts.

Ivan, Sheba, Hamma, Moapa and himself. They made a small procession through the village, climbing wooden steps over the dull sounds of the quieted people. Like the day before, it was so foreign not to hear children running and playing in the lanes like they ought to've. There was no delightful day-to-day chatter amongst the people, no sounds save those strictly necessary to keep the village running.

There was no moisture to the air as they walked either, something which was surprising as they walked across rickety wooden bridges over clear streams. Nothing living, it felt as though they'd crossed into a desert of red sand and stone. Felix had left his scarf and heavier traveling clothes back at Moapa's dwelling, and didn't regret the decision as his head felt as though it were resting under flames. His sword was still strapped to his hip, though it was a dragging weight on him. And his hair was soaking up the heat as they walked and felt like an iron against his neck. The water was such a stark blue against the rest of the village; dark brown wood, bleached bone skulls, tanned animal hides drying in the sun, and canvas tents… always the two sides, earth and water, another set of opposites.

They were leaving the eastern boundaries of the village before a low, wailing chant warbled through the heat and the light of the rising day. The Fortune Teller's Pavilion was separated from the rest of the village, high slabs of red stone cordoning the painted structure off from the faint sounds of the other dwellings.

_Spes est res penniger… Ut forte en animus… _

A fire pit filled with blackened stones sat smoking before the large tent, the most impressive of its kind in the Shaman Nation. Beaded and painted with a hundred different patterns, there were images of people in the fields working to cultivate crops, bird-men flying through bright blue of the sky. The shining lights of all four lighthouses were depicted, and Felix knew that from the inside the beads offered an array of shimmering lights for those seeking the sights of the sage inside.

_Quod sono tune vacuus lacuna... Quod nunquam subsisto procul totus..._

"Another has fallen ill." Moapa's voice was low as they approached, the wailing and chanting mixed in together as several voices. It was a mournful sound, and so removed from the village that it was almost painful to the ears with its sadness. How could a human make such a noise?

"_Naomi!_" As they moved around the dead fire, the flaps of the tent were pulled back, a woman with her hair plaited back into black braids, her face painted with red and white lines, came barrelling out. Her face paints were smeared down the cheeks, and Felix felt himself freeze on the spot to see her there.

_Quod dulcis in procella est auditus… Quod vomica must exsisto tempestas._

_Ut could abash parum avian... Ut kept tot tepidus._

He didn't know her, but as she crumbled to the ground, she let out such a painful wail as though a fresh death hung over the home. If it were her accent which twisted the words, or just a language long unheard by those in the far East, he couldn't tell. But her voice carried an anguish which seemed so unreal in the red heat, the smoke and the dust still carrying high on the wind, obscuring everything as the last of the distance between them was closed.

"Ikata!" Moapa's voice broke through the wailing of the woman on the ground, the chanting from inside the tent still unbroken as the four of them arrived. The Chief was quick to move to the woman- Ikata's side. He knelt down next to her, trying to help her up only to have her strength clearly fail and leave her slumped on the sandy stones.

"Here, let her drink." Stepping forwards, Hamma was undoing the leather strap over her shoulder to loosen her water skin. Kneeling down she held the spout against the woman's lips, urging her to take the water.

"C'mon, Felix." Giving a slight start, he noticed Sheba tugging on his arm. Ivan had already moved ahead a bit, his tanned face pulled in a low frown.

"Even the Fortune Teller's house isn't immune…"

Inside it was as he'd thought, the beaded walls of the tent painting coloured patterns across the small cooking pit, and the woven grass mats around the perimeter of the round pavilion. There were bear and elk skins bundled up at the bases of the five long posts, and four other painted members of the family. Two were small children with their faces smeared with white, the third a large old man with very detailed robes draped over his shoulders, a hefty white feathered band around his temples and drooping over his brow. There was heavy incense burning, small sticks being waved about by the two children as they murmured their chants with a slow and steady drawl. Felix couldn't understand what they were saying, and perhaps it was just as well.

Audivi is in gelu terra… Quod in insolitus mare…

The fourth person in the room was a young woman. She was flat on her back, her face completely blank of expression, but oddly peaceful. Black hair was combed into two neat black braids draping down her shoulders, a series of beaded necklaces had been draped over her, no doubt imbued with healing properties as they didn't seem the sort of accessories to sleep with. A hide blanket of speckled white and brown fur was pulled up high across her chest, and she seemed to give no notice to the chanting and bitter smoke.

Etiamnunc nunquam en extremus... Is scisco a mica mei…

"Omata…" Ivan's voice was quiet, waiting for one of the soft pauses in the chanting to come around again before speaking. The bowed head of the Fortune Teller came up abruptly at the interruption however, and stood in a flurry of beaded cloth and feathers. The children behind him merely continued with their prayers, the incense continuing to fill the air around them.

_Spes est res penniger… Ut forte en animus… _

"You have no right to be here!" The old man's voice was wheezing and low as he spoke, outrage clear in his tone, but he had neither the volume nor the force to come off as very powerful. His rank was belittled by the tremors running through him as he stood there, dirt scuffing his robes and caking his knees.

"Omata, we're only trying to help you," This must've been a rehearsed conversation, Felix looking to his right as Sheba stepped forwards; she also kept her voice down for the chanting. They'd all learned well enough in their travels never to interrupt a local ceremony unless completely necessary, no matter how bizarre it seemed. But really, this time it seemed no different than having a healer at a sanctum offer a blessing.

"We do not need the help of Yegelos' lot!" He hissed back at her, earning a bitter twist of the lips from both Jupiter Adepts, but Felix didn't feel the same lash of insult, the Fortune Teller's conviction failed him too quickly for that. Turning back towards the bedside, the old man began rubbing his corded and tattooed hands over one another repeatedly. "My daughter… oh my daughter now too…"

"Naomi is ill?"

_Quod sono tune vacuus lacuna... Quod nunquam subsisto procul totus..._

Moapa entered behind them, and Felix ushered the two other adepts with him to the far side of the tent, away from the children and the woman sleeping on the mats. On the Chief's arm came the woman from before, her face pale as she seemed completely drained. Hamma as well ducked inside and examined the scene, frowning all the while.

"She's like all of the others." The change which came over the Fortune Teller upon seeing Moapa was abrupt, but not really surprising. The warrior was well revered in the village, he had to be. "She won't stir from her slumber, no matter how long we call on the spirits…"

Hamma seemed to float across the pavilion floor towards the slumbering maiden, the chanting continuing even with their disturbance. The painted children didn't once look up from their prayers, the incense sticks in their grasp continuing to smoulder and give off thin ribbons of smoke. Kneeling next to the sleeping girl, Hamma's eyes slid shut as she placed one hand on her forehead. There was a tense moment before she moved again, silence only broken by the voices of the children.

_Quod dulcis in procella est auditus… Quod vomica must exsisto tempestas._

_Ut could abash parum avian... Ut kept tot tepidus._

"She is as the others." Feeling a hand snake into his, Felix's breath caught as a rush of wind swirled around him. It was an almost intrusive sensation, the element directly opposed to the earth spinning rapidly so close to him. The effect on his mind was the opposite as what had happened the day before with the cold aura however. Instead, all the colours of his vision were peeled away, like a piece of cloth run through with lines of missing thread.

Audivi is in gelu terra… Quod in insolitus mare…

Etiamnunc nunquam en extremus... Is scisco a mica mei…

The lighthouses shining on the canvas walls faded, the bright red of the face paints dulling down to a deep grey, but the contrast between textures was sharp to his eyes, almost painfully so. He could feel the thrum of power around Sheba as she shared her gift with him, but it had been so long since he'd been given a glimpse of hidden sight that he was slow to keep up with it at first.

He could see it, that misty aura, those cold brittle fingers. It was peppered throughout the air like mists, hanging low through the air, no higher than his chest, but sinking down into baskets and around screens. He wanted to follow it outside, back the way they'd come, just to see how far it was truly spread. True he'd felt it even last night in Moapa's home, but still.

He couldn't see the sleeping girl- was she still a girl? No, she seemed too old for that. She was his age, perhaps only a year or so younger. Regardless, he couldn't see her once Sheba revealed the mists to him; they hovered over her form too thickly for that, thinning out near the entrance to the tent. At the back however…

He hadn't noticed the back flap of the tent when they'd entered, it wasn't pulled taught like the other panels, but instead fell straight to the ground like the opening at the front. A back entrance? His eye was drawn by the mists; they were thinly dispersed through the tent, but thickened drastically over both the bed, and farther towards that panel. He'd known that the Fortune Teller's tent came up against a rock wall, but apparently that wall wasn't solid?

_Spes est res penniger… Ut forte en animus… _

The panel itself was exceptional, and he wondered why he hadn't noticed it immediately upon entering since it would've been facing him. It was similar to and reminded him almost instantly of the winged statues all throughout Jupiter Lighthouse, a woman with flowing hair and robes, a shawl draped behind her arms and a serene look across her face. He hadn't liked them very much at the time, but to be fair Sheba had scowled darkly at the same images in Venus Lighthouse near Lalivaro. Jupiter's wings were done in careful lines of tiny beads- the colours of which he couldn't make out under the spell. But in one hand, instead of being unburdened as in the Lighthouse, the angel held a thin scale. It hung on a hook from one finger before balancing before her.

What was she weighing?

_Quod sono tune vacuus lacuna... Quod nunquam subsisto procul totus..._

"What are you doing!?" The Fortune Teller's voice broke the spell Sheba had woven around them both, and Felix felt a biting pain behind his eyes as textures faded and colour came slamming back to him. Closing his eyes tightly, he resisted the urge to rub his forehead in the wake of the splitting pain which came to him.

"Omata, we must-" It was Ivan who'd earned the sharp words from the old man. Standing next to the panel of the angel Jupiter, he had one hand on the edge of the beadwork, preparing to draw it back.

"I have told you time and time again! None of Yegelos' brood may pass into that cavern!" Finally, the chanting stopped, the Fortune Teller's voice boomed out as he crossed the tent as if to pry Ivan from the panel by force. Obviously, Ivan didn't need to be handled, simply abandoning his place and darting back over to where Felix and Sheba stood. "It is a sacred place, and I will not stand in my office and have it defiled by your touch!"

"We've been over this before!" Ivan snapped back, a tell tale sign of how repetitive this sort of thing must be becoming in the village. That, or he was just taking the more dramatic steps out of boyhood. "If you don't let us into the cave, we can't figure out what's wrong with-"

"There is nothing wrong which cannot be fixed by our own methods!"

"Enough!" Moapa's voice cut through the argument, the two children sitting on the floor being comforted by the woman they'd found outside. Striding past the family and Hamma on the floor, Moapa gestured to Felix, beckoning him to his side. Obeying, Felix felt the Chief clap one hand on his shoulder and look sternly to the Fortune Teller.

"This is Felix, one of the four Heroes who bested me atop Trial Road." There was Authority in the older man's voice as he spoke, and the Fortune Teller was kept silent by it. His mouth was left slack-jawed, but he slowly began to compose himself as Sheba stepped off towards Hamma to watch.

"You will escort Felix into the Caves, Fortune Teller Omata, and show him what there is to be seen."

"Chieftain, hear me." The old man was pleading now, but Felix knew there wouldn't be much hope for his argument. "There is nothing to be seen by an outsider."

Moapa's response was harsh and so slurred Felix hardly caught more than a few words. Something about last winter, but the way the Chief's eyes went wide and white said more than words themselves could convey. There had been a lot of arguing in this village over the cavern behind the tent flap. It was insane just how distraught this entire community was becoming over it.

"You will show him the cave!"

"Yes… Chieftain…"

"You will answer any questions he asks of you!"

"Yes… Yes, Chieftain."

"You will meet any requests made by him of you!"

"Yes, Chieftain!"

The tent was silent, utterly so. Felix had met this Fortune Teller once or twice before when last he'd visited the Shaman nation, and it seemed his Office had grown into a heavy burden on the old man's slumped shoulders. Moapa was as unmoving as a bronze statue, lording high over the weakened official. Felix felt a twinge of regret that there was so much strife over something so small as letting him in to a cave. There was some significance for it in their culture, but still, what was he even supposed to be on the look out for? If it wasn't something obvious to his senses, there could be a problem.

"Is there no way to bring Ivan or Sheba in with me?" He asked quietly, speaking only to the Chief, but noticing the way the Fortune Teller's back stiffened defiantly as he shuffled across the tent.

"It is our law," He responded firmly, shaking his dreadlocked head towards Felix at the question. "To allow them in would deal a fatal wound the pride of our people."

"Take good care to notice the little things." Hamma said abruptly, cutting off Ivan as she came up, the other adept hadn't said anything, but she gave him a look which told him not to change that. Then she looked back to Felix. "Any details may be important, try to remember as much as you can." He nodded to her, stepping away from them and over to where the Fortune Teller had straightened out again, holding out a pair of torches to light them. There was a basket at his side holding several more stalks.

"I'm sure that won't be too hard." He replied, but placed one hand on his belt just to be sure. He didn't expect to fight, but bringing the sword along with him was a second nature he'd forgotten in Vale. "We shouldn't be long."

There was a spluttering hiss from the torches as they were set by a crack of flint and steel at the Fortune Teller's belt, and Felix drew aside the curtain into the black crag directly behind the tent. He'd never even noticed the gaping hole in the side of the mountain before. There was a dank smell to the air, cold and wet which had been covered up by the incense in the tent itself. He turned and glanced towards the old man again.

"How far on do these caverns go?" Using the pad of one thumb, the Shaman official nudged the band of his headdress up higher on his brow, and Felix could see the strange look settled into his dark eyes. Taking the torch as it was offered to him and stepping inside, the old man looked over his shoulder at the Chief before giving a disgruntled reply.

"…Forever."

* * *

**If you pay close attention in TLA and GS1, whenever you examine the ovens the replies are always in First Person. Taking that into account, Felix is FAR more picky than Isaac about food xD But that might just be because the lands in TLA are a bit more exotic than GS1. **

**The chant is actually the Hope Poem by Emily Dickinson, I shot the lines through an online Latin translator, and although it totally butchered the grammar, I like the effect. They're praying for hope and the strength to overcome adversity, so I thought it fit. It does repeat after a while however, since it's only twelve lines, and I doubled them up.**

**Moapa, Ikata, Omata, SHUT UP. I don't know native-sounding names; I'm making them up as I go along…**


	6. Alienated

**31/10/08**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Alienated

It didn't take long after they stepped over the lip of the cave to feel as though they'd left the surface world behind. The chilling mists became something he could almost see around the halo of the torches, burning away at the touch of the flames but still leeching away the warmth from the summer air above. There was a distinct slope to the cave as well, and shortly upon entering the ground was noticeably slicker, and covered with shattered stones- easy to trip over.

"These caverns have begun to crumble in places; it is an ill sign…" The Fortune Teller was short for words as they climbed deeper. The way rather easy, allowing Felix to simply let his feet find the way for him. He felt removed from the world, but noticed quickly that it wasn't in the sort of way which he would've liked.

There was a sense… of something around him which beguiled the strength of the earth. His element always gave him comfort, there was nowhere safer to hide or to spend the night than in a thick, heavy forest, or a solid cave of rock. But he couldn't feel the same sense of connection here. Maybe it was the slick coating of water across the rocks, or the occasional breath of cold, mouldy air. There must've been a spring farther under the mountain; he could remember waterfalls along the height of Trial Road, they and the village water must all flow from the same source. Other openings could allow a bit of wind to pass. But there was no heat, no light save their torches.

How appropriate, if unbalanced. The three pure elements coexisting without the presence of the fourth. It made him bitter to think of such things, like when he placed his hand against one side of the wall only to have his bare skin come away with a layer of cold slime. It wasn't coexistence when two frigid, moist entities were grinding down and away at the living earth… But, that wasn't the way people felt in Vale, and he was… Valean…

It was cold in a way he hated. Not the raw, blistering ice of the north, or the constant chill of artic oceans. This was a wet cold, something so subtle yet frozen that it seeped into his very lungs, water glistening across his skin and stealing away the sensation of touch. Those fingers prodding his skull were more adamant now than on the surface, and he found it difficult to focus his eyes on anything more distant than the wavering flames of the Fortune Teller's torch ahead of him.

"These caverns are a place of absolution and penance for our people." His voice was a shaking echo in the blackness, red flames reflecting off of slick stones and dry ones at random. The cold was wrapping around his head was like a band of leather, tightening more and more as he walked. Where was it coming from? Why so tangible?

"It is where they come to resolve their guilt and shame, to carve their misdeeds into the very earth so as to have it exposed and then forgiven."

He felt his foot slip over the rounded dips of the cavern floor, something which rarely happened to him, but meant that he was still human. Placing one hand against the wall again to steady himself, his eyes lost the Fortune Teller's torch, and he ended up staring down at the flames of his own, then to the wall.

His breath caught. Settling himself properly on his own feet, he turned towards the wall and bringing his torch around to let the red light of the flames show him what was there. At first he'd thought there'd been nothing but stone and the occasional dredge of slime, but he was wrong. After all, hadn't the old man _just_ said this was a place for baring one's soul? All across the walls and- he soon saw- the sloping ceiling up above, were images.

Paintings, carvings, charcoal sketches and inked drawings. Some masterfully depicted tools, or faceless people dancing, others crude renditions of weapons and animals. He felt as though he were moving through a dream, the pictures coming to life and flickering across the veined rock. He wasn't paying attention to that cold mist anymore, simply allowing his eyes to roam over the drawings, dragging the flame where his eyes roamed to push away the inky darkness. There were literally thousands of them, meshing into the dips and flows of the rock like the wet scum all across them. Why the paintings weren't worn away, he couldn't know. The wet should've smeared and washed them off with the years, but instead gave the impression of being something of a frame, or a protective lacquer.

His head felt a mess with all the images around him, a cold shiver running down his spine as a horse's whickering shriek echoed through the air around him. Heard, but not really there at all, like something powerful dredged up from memory. Like how he could feel the dull throb of the drums being danced around in a wild frenzy; gold light showered across tables laden with fruits and roasted meats sitting ready for feasting. The smell was overpowering, rippling over and washing his senses like a warm bath…

"_Hero!" _

He gave a sharp, short gasp. Doubling over, there was a numb pain in his chest, like an icy fist gripping his lungs in a sharp knot. His eyes were crossed and vision blurred with dark shadows, and the liquid shine of his torch across the slick stones. Coughing bitterly, Felix felt his knees hit the stone floor, and the acrid smell of the fire eating away at its oiled fuel made him retch several times.

"…_Hero!" _

His head felt like he'd slammed it against the wall several times, the Fortune Teller's voice so far away, echoing through the shadows of the cave without a proper source. The effect of this place was so disorienting, he couldn't explain it. He was swallowing hard as he could taste sour bile just in the back of his throat, sitting along the very edge of his tongue. Trying to shake his head free, again it was like having a hundred tiny hands gripping his mind and sneaking their fingers into his thoughts. He gave another shudder, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, wanting to gather himself up again.

This was only a cave, a fold in the earth, in Weyard, the world he'd risked more than just his life to preserve and renew. This wasn't like Air's rock; that cursed pillar of Jupiter's might, endless winds encased in the earth and carving through it like something soft, malleable sand and coarse dirt. He'd hated those weeks spent spiralling through endless caverns of windy stone, but this wasn't the same, it couldn't be as bad as that. He was one of the earth; this was his element, and he wasn't going to be brought down by something inside of it. The cold and some smatterings of paint weren't enough to keep him down.

Wasn't it strange then, how he didn't feel cold anymore? So strange, all he could think of in his mind was something icy creeping along through his thoughts. Digging down like a serpent towards parts unknown, thoughts and memories not for the world to ever know, slowly unearthing them. But that was folly, wasn't it? If he didn't even feel cold, not in his arms or his legs, and he could even feel the heat on his face… the heat from…

The heat from the flames reflecting all around him as he eased his eyes open. And again he felt abruptly so disconnected from himself. What was he doing here, here of all places? Was this where he was supposed to be?

The lights were all so low, it was difficult even to see the tiling before him, how it laced through itself like only the finest of protective mail. Warm air coiled around him, billowing from the depths like the breath of some slumbering beast of fire and scale. There were no sounds, only the dull ambiance of roaring flame and crackling heat. The sigh of metal against itself was so far off and almost pleasant-sounding to his ears.

He rose to his feet almost too easily, unsure of why he'd fallen in the first place. The floor was entirely smooth, the woven tiles leading from one corridor to the next like a crimson carpet. The warm tones of gold and burnished copper sang across his vision, beckoning him forwards even as he would've come anyways. Why else was he here? The world outside felt so far away… He hardly remembered to bring the torch along with him. It was almost light enough for him to see without it; crimson flames burning ethereally from pedestals and reflecting off of every mirror-like surface.

And yet up ahead it was still dark. He couldn't see very far ahead of him until he was there, gold detailing fading to black as the hanging bodies of red stone and tile flanked him. But everything was seamless, no cracks or breaks in any of the masonry, just endless corridors of crimson stone and red tiling. The pillars seemed to bend as they stretched up towards the shadowed ceiling. As he had several times before, his mind painted them as serpents; their thick bodies hanging as the dead from heights unseen. Certainly there was only one place he could be then… there were only so many sanctums in the world with such uncanny craftsmanship, and just one so devote to fire.

Fire… that one mistaken element. It was the only one of four given the brand of the evil and cruel. Alone as the untameable one; still unforgiven for crimes never committed. The world saw it for being what its mask portrayed it as, championing all the others for the same reason. They simply chose a different colour to wear, a better banner to fly. If fire did not twist itself into a destructive power, it would not wear the same guise to the unwary. Why, it could be like the wind, soft and lulling, unbothered and trivial in the grand scheme of things. Then no one would know the destruction of fire, just as they ignored the howling furry of the winds out on the open sea, or across deserts of icy snow.

Not only fire though, but something more. He could feel it tugging at him as he walked, like a thread of guilt knotted tightly around his heart. It wasn't only the element of Mars that was misunderstood, and branded the demon and the traitor to the world, but the Clan as well. A clan whose blood was so diluted and mixed with that of Vale and Sol's guardians that it had split into two separate branches.

Somehow, one branch was better than the other, wasn't it? That was how Vale liked to think. The descendants of Sol Sanctum; the children of those who had saved the world by sealing Alchemy away hundreds of years ago. One branch was not only better, but they were more pure. They embodied all the traits they felt fire had _'forgotten'_, all the warmth and the kindness, which was why no Mars Adept ever dared cast his or her strengths around the village. It was near sin to use any manner of psynergy for something like that, to bring about fire- that callous, destructive element…

But forbidden or not, that one Branch was still leaps and bounds ahead of the other. The ones who were barbarians, entombed in snow and ice, reverting into creatures of legend and infamy. They were creatures, not humans, not anymore. Just monsters: people slowly losing their humanity to the frozen tundra and the dark evils of their element. That was what the truth was in Vale, those were the stories whispered in the dark for years, only to be declared as truths by the Sanctum officials after Sol's temple was swallowed by the earth. Somehow, a feat of all four elements was the fault of only one. Prox and its people were the sole blame for something several of Vale's own youths had been directly involved in.

Was it irony, how all of it and yet none was really at the hands of the Proxian people? Was it just some twist of fate how they had been the ones to instigate conflict, but only after they'd been shut out repeatedly while trying to pursue a path of peace? They would have succumbed first to the darkness of that unending rift, that void of nothingness as the world died on their doorstep. Only the islands to the farthest south-eastern seas knew of a more threatening tug, the waters of Gaia Falls carving away at their homeland leaving them with nowhere to run save the sea itself. But they didn't have the same knowledge as the Dragon folk; they didn't have the same understanding of the world and its disease.

The tiny settlement- once a vast empire under the glory of Mars- had brought down the first blows towards Sol Sanctum and its treasure of Alchemy's key. And they in turn had suffered greatly for it, but with conviction which could not be swayed. Felix didn't know the names of the soldiers who had died that night when the boulder smashed through Vale- and his life. But he knew they had been many, and had been well loved in their frozen community. He knew that they were dearly missed, even now, several years after the fact.

He'd had a hand in those losses to, by the end, hadn't he? That thought was like a chilling echo, and he felt himself stop moving, felt that tight knot in his chest work its way back to awareness.

He didn't want to walk anymore, didn't want to move forwards through the crimson passages and corridoes, though he knew there wasn't any other reason for him to be here again. Here again, in this place, this place he didn't want anyone to ever remember, least of all himself.

He was in a chamber where the heat was enough to send sweat pouring down his face, itching between his shoulder blades as it trickled along his back. The lighting was low here, as it had been this entire time, but the heat was choking, smothering. To either side of him was a narrow strip of red, turning the path he followed into a sunken bridge, only it wasn't water to the left or right, it was something far more dangerous, far more subdued and calm.

The dual-nature of fire, like every other element, lay liquefied to his flanks. Magma: slow and predictable, exuding warmth and subtle light. But to touch it would send him into a world of endless flame and eventual death, absorbing him into it. How opposite to water, which could kill with just as much struggle and pain, but was still help up high on a pedestal of healing and glory. How ironic… But still so fake…

He knew where he was, and he didn't want to go on, he just didn't. The chamber before him was completely black, entirely black but for one single flame, and it stood there wavering faintly in the darkness, hovering it seemed in the shadows. He didn't want to go to it, that knot in his chest growing tighter and tighter as he slowed his steps down to an unwilling trudge.

Vale said that the Proxians had done everything to unleash Alchemy with reckless abandon, and that they had not once felt the sting of their actions, no shade of regret. Vale saw them completely as monsters, with no care for them as humans, not wanting to see the dragon-skinned barbarians of the north as anything more than just that- barbarians. Not skilled in crafts and trades, not with families to care for, or councils to debate their issues and problems.

Not civilized, not human, and suffering no losses throughout the entire campaign of unleashing Alchemy, not a single one. After all, they were the sort of race to devour their own young, why would they feel any remorse for fallen comrades? Who would believe such monsters even felt the bonds of friendship to begin with? Nothing but demons, heartless wraiths of death and fire.

His heart ached, but he was carried forwards regardless. He couldn't stop it; the walls just seemed to writhe around him like snake-skin. If he would not move forward, then they would simply creep back, bringing that black chamber forwards, and into dim light. He didn't want to be there, but something else did.

Before him he could see that tiny flame, but his eyes moved past it towards the background. One of the several large dragon-busts which ordained vast halls of the Light House hung lording over him. Its eyes and face were carved out of the wall, extending with the illusion that the scale-like tiles truly were a part of the mythic creature. Its gaping maw was formed of red-gold, eyes of the same material glittering ethereally as though oiled and swirling with knowledge. How could Vale fear and despise such things?

Gods of an ancient world, he'd seen them emblazoned as the symbol of both earth and water, paid homage several times in his own journeys to one known as the Leviathan, and had fought with others to bring down the serpent of Gaia Rock. Yet when aligned with Mars, there was no celebration, no awe or respect, the Dragon simply became another symbol of chaos and destruction. Always death, because Fire could never be anything more.

It was like someone struck a chime in the endless corridors of crimson tile, bringing his thoughts back to centre even as his mind tried vainly to gasp at some other odd detail, anything to take him away from the place he was in now. But another chime simply broke through his attempts, shattering them like a fragile pane of glass, scattering them like the rays of light coming from the flame hovering in front of him.

There shouldn't have been anything remarkable about it, nothing at all; it was just a handful of fire, burning away at nothing. Though strange when taken at face-value, should it really have been important enough given all he'd seen in his life? It wasn't the flame itself which captured him, but instead was the light it gave off, and what that light revealed to him.

There were rents across the chamber walls, heavy cracks along the once unbroken masonry. Shattered tiles littered the area, the stubs of several pillars crumbled and weak, debris pebbled in every corner. And the floor…

There wasn't… as much as he remembered, or maybe instead there was just more. He felt nailed to the spot as he stood there, terrified to move and disturb the thin film with a more decidedly crimson tone than any of the stone or debris around him. Even the riveting glare of the magma behind him hadn't held the same sickening hue. It wasn't the red of fire anymore, but the essence of life, important more so than any amount of alchemy. No ounce of earth, drop of water, or breath of wind could compare, it was liquid life, red blood pooled across the shambled chamber which surrounded him now.

When had he drawn his sword? He looked down at it slowly, moving as if in a dream. Rivulets of the same fluid coursed down the blade's spelled edges, Sol's weapon glaring up at him with a shining golden light. But it wasn't the glory of Alchemy staring up at him; it was that ruddy red glare, like that of the gold shaping the dragon's fierce maw. Death wasn't the true face of fire, but it was still a part of it, still a shade of its crimson glare. So much blood could only mean…

"No…" His world rippled softly as he spoke for the first time since entering the cave. Lifting the blade a little higher, he could see his reflection across the ancient metal, his skin was so white, the lighthouse so black around him… Cave? What cave? He wasn't in a…

"No, no I-…" His heart was beginning to pound in his chest, aggravating that hard knot of cold, and making it difficult to breathe. His strength faltered, and before he could stop himself, he flung the sword down from him in revolt. It was so like he'd wanted to do it that time, when it had all been happening for real, when the blinders had been removed and the world-

There was no clash of metal on stone, no ear-splitting clatter of ancient steel scraping equally old masonry. Only the dull, echoing clunk of wood against knobbed stone, darkness overcoming him as Felix felt pain bloom in his knees. Cold wetness swept through his pant legs and sent a wave of revulsion up through his body like a sick shock. There was only one thing in the lighthouse that could-

"_NO!_" His eyes opened to darkness, hands closing over slime-coated rocks, icy cold in contrast to the heat swelling through Mars Lighthouse. But he wasn't there, he was here, surrounded by the living earth and that twisted sense of cold, thousands of miles to the south of Prox, miles more from the beacon and the tower. But the sense of it was still around him, even as he touched his head to the stones and found himself gasping hard for air. His feet ached from walking across the uneven ground for so long, but his eyes were still filled with the after-images of crimson tile and ribbon-worked masonry. Cold, clammy air burned through his lungs, but he could still taste the coppery traces of blood in the back of his throat.

Where had the light gone? He raised himself and fumbled across the cold ground, on hands and knees, searching for the torch, its orange light flickering low as he felt almost blind in the airless space. He'd never known what it was like to be within his element yet cut off from it so completely, it was like the film of water and the stale air isolated him purposefully from the living stone. When his hand closed around the wooden length of the torch again, it was a great relief to him, but the effect was only skin-deep.

He felt himself topple over to his side, resting one shoulder wearily against the grooved wall, and looking dazedly into the low flames of the torch. It was burning so low on the oiled head that he could feel the life in it slipping away. It was draining out of the orange heat, invisible trails of smoke creating a low haze in the old air. He felt so cold, the heat of the lighthouse like a burn across his face, but under his cloths he could feel a cold sweat, that hard knot in his chest aching sorely as he tried to breathe.

He could remember being there; remember the battle that had haunted him for so long afterwards. He had entered that chamber once before when it was still unbroken; towering structures of ice defiling the elemental alignment of the sanctum. He remembered the screams and the shouts of the battle, the inhuman bellows from the mythic beasts which broke free of those icy casings.

He could still feel the heat of the battle, caustic breath and deadly talons, the pull and resist of his own blade through golden hide and green scale. He remembered the light and the backlash of stray energy as a racial power was unleashed and died, how wings became tattered cloaks. Spines of threatening gold melded into cropped hair and pixie-split ears. Eyes regained their souls, but clouded over too quickly for it to mean anything, like fog on the inside of windows, making it impossible to see anything more than faint shimmers and lights behind them.

But he couldn't remember any voices, any solid words. It was all a blur to him, what could he remember? Nothing of what the others had said; none of the conversation or the meanings behind it had reached him not then, or even now.

It was only those other images, other sensations, which had hurt him then and haunted him now. They were what left him tossing and turning in his bed each night. He couldn't sleep for fear of them, reliving the tearing of sinew and bone, hearing the shrieks of pain and death. The echo of scattering power settled into his memories in that same dark pit as the grind of the boulder's fall. It was the stuff of nightmares, and that was what they became for him, night after night after night. There was no respite from the memories, from their sounds and sensations.

Why else would he have undertaken this useless journey as he had? For so long the quiet of Vale had left nothing for his mind to drown the sounds with, nothing so strenuous enough so as to deaden their echo with the simple need to rest. Any challenge for his mind had to be enough, had to be more than the maps and the building and the peace. Because no matter how hard he worked his body; his mind was alive and ready to delve into the places this new, cold presence pried rudely into.

"_Your hands…" _No…_ No, no, __**no…**_

It had taken ten days of successive travel for him to final tire himself out enough to fall into unbroken slumber, and even when he had rested for two days, he'd known to keep himself away from idle moments because of what they might lead to. He hated idling, he couldn't stand it, couldn't allow his mind to wander, yet he did it all the time in Vale. There just wasn't enough in Vale to do. It was so empty; his new life was just _too empty_.

"_They're… so warm…" _

The only words he ever heard when he thought of that terrifying battle, and all its aftermath. They hadn't even been spoken for his true ears, but into his mind, giving voice to a tender emotion floating behind fogged crimson windows. He remembered the warmth across his knees as he'd fallen into the pool of scarlet life, one hand shaking as he tried to hold the one lifeless before him, afraid to so much as graze bruised fingers with his own callous ones. The slashes across the palms had mangled even those few digits, and he hadn't known Ivan was there behind him until the voice drifted softly into his mind.

"_I had… forgotten…" _

And he had wanted to forget ever since. And just as the final sparks of life had grown cold in those eyes, so too did the final dredges of oil vanish into bitter smoke. Darkness swept over him, the chilling cold close on its heels as he felt numbness creeping up his limbs. The stale air and the icy water sealed him away from his own element, and the final comfort of fire was snuffed out.

* * *

When Felix returned to the Fortune Teller's tent, he walked in on a loud argument. The old man had returned what seemed to have been hours ago and had utterly refused to go back and search for him, while still maintaining that none of the three outsiders could venture in either.

The brief, stunned silence which greeted him as he stepped past the curtain of Jupiter and her scale was shattered by a flurry of excitement from both Ivan and Sheba. Felix was in no mood to talk however, and shook off the younger man's hand as he placed his torch down against the canvas wall and left the tent through the front. Silent.

He didn't answer Sheba's outraged call for him to come back, and didn't look to Moapa as he boldly passed the chief. He hid his muted surprise when Hamma averted her eyes from him despite her faint attempt to block his path, and moved swiftly past the barren crags separating the Fortune Teller's stricken home from the rest of the village.

It was as eerily silent amongst the canvas dwellings and gnarled wood fences now as it had been when he'd originally moved through the village to the cave's entrance earlier that day.

And it _had_ been earlier. The coppery tones in the sky were no longer the herald of the morning, and the scent of cooking meats and poached fish was a clear sign of the failing daylight, as though the halo of red to the west had not been proof enough.

He'd had nothing but fruits and cream in the morning, but couldn't bring himself to feel the twinge of hunger as he struck north through the village. The clear babble of the river should've drawn his attention, as he'd been without a proper drink for just as long as he'd gone without food. But after the alienation of the cave, he couldn't stand the sight of it, let alone the idea of inviting it into himself. He marched solidly along his way, trying to distance himself from the thoughts of it all, the memories.

Before he knew it, he was before the large, wind-carved stone at the gates of Trial road, and could go no further. Buffeted by gales and the hard whistle of the element represented several hundred miles to the south, it was too blatant a show of power and an insult to him. His already taught stomach twisted in on itself nauseously, and the drone of the summer twilight began to pick up around him like the low moan of the dying. And the babble of those scattered creeks was the laughter of their aligned axis.

And again, even his own element was against him. A cascade of sand barred the path beyond the stone, which stood alone before him, carved into a swirl by the endless winds of the canyon. He was reaching into the mountains now, that bowl which encompassed so much of the Shaman Nation. It sang with the power of the wind, a blatant mockery of the earth and Venus's power as it was forced to carry the essence of it's direct opposite.

Felix couldn't tell whether all of these bitter feelings had been present to the same extent before the release of Alchemy. But it seemed likely, only the mutual weakness of all four had dampened it, but he knew the insults had all still been there, all present, all real. All which had made Air's Rock bearable for him perhaps had been the state of the Lighthouses at the time; Venus's beacon shining and empowering the earth while Jupiter remained cold and unlit.

There was nothing for it now, no where to run to, no quiet ledge with its solitary view. The way was blocked to him, and even as he refused to admit to it, a weakness was creeping through his limbs all over again. Bringing his hands up, the charcoal stains across his palms made him feel tainted, but he could do nothing about them.

To long without food, to far without water. He could go further up the mountains, along Trial Road, but he knew he would exhaust himself if he cast. He had no stomach for being rescued from his own foolishness. It wasn't… worth it… No, it wasn't worth it at all. There was nowhere to run to here, the doors were closed on his mind, just like in Vale. It was all empty, far too empty. No amount of strain on the body here could dampen the fervour of his mind, there was no such balance to be had while settled within the walls of a society, be they made of ancient laws with their nauseating maps or gnarled branches and an unexplainable sickness.

He turned back, defeated, settling on the latter set of problems for lack of anything else to do. The cold aura exuded from the caverns followed him closely, and he felt as though he could look up and see a dark storm cloud hovering over his head. He wouldn't have been surprised if the sensation were real. Such things had a habit of being far too life-like for their own good.

He turned back, he returned to the village, and he faced his friends.

* * *

**Written to a stock of Evanescence songs, edited to Braveheart.**


	7. Melancholy

**31/10/08 **

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* * *

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**Chapter Six **

Melancholy 

His manner the day before had more than sufficed to get across his point of not wanting to talk about what had happened in the cave. Moapa mentioned nothing when Felix picked at his dinner in the Chief's house without a third the enthusiasm as he'd had the night before. This time he didn't offer his thanks to the chef, poor manners or no, and retreated to his offered sleeping area downstairs without speaking more than a handful of words throughout the entire ordeal.

He didn't sleep, hardly tried since he knew it wouldn't do him any good. He spent most of the night half-dressed, sitting on his cot as he often spent most of his nights in Vale. In his hands, he held the only part of his traveling gear which held no practical purpose.

He'd worn a mask into Vale, and done everything short of bathe with it on for the entire two days leading up to the break into Sol Sanctum and the revelation of his identity. It wasn't the most skilfully crafted piece of wood, but was marginally comfortable, and decorated with lines of green and yellow paint across the front. The lines for the eyes and mouth were serrated, and were in fact several cuts made into the wood, like a grate. It was a style no metal tools could replicate, and required precision shots of psynergy to sear away the patterns.

They did a lot of things differently in Prox, but after all his travels he'd reasoned that every culture did things their own way, so how was the Mars Clan really any different? They boiled their meat instead of roasting it on spits, or baking it in ovens. Potatoes were a common household meal, not the leafy green vegetables of Vault, or the dried hot peppers of the Kibombo. They looked different too, their skin tinted with blues, reds, and occasionally green with age. But how much of a stretch was that to apply a city full of golden-eyed immortals? What of Isles out in the middle of the ocean where everyone's skin was a dark mocha brown? A village comprised of _werewolves_… In a world like that, was dragon skin truly so terrifying?

They were still human; they still understood what it had meant for him to turn against the teachings of Vale. Why else would this mask have been given to him? It hadn't been his own anxiety which had forced Felix to craft the mask in his hands on his own; it had been the thoughtfulness of the Proxian people. One person in particular; though it had shocked him at the time to accept it from her.

Menardi had pulled him aside shortly after the last signs of Prox had vanished behind them on route to the sea and Alex's waiting vessel. He still remembered the words she'd spoken to him, of how their mission was to be a very difficult one, no doubt filled with pain and distress on all sides. But she'd told him how he should be able to spare himself part of that distress, at least for a little while.

He remembered that pathetic morning when they'd left, rain drenching the snowy village. It did more than simply dampen their leave-taking; it was the sort of miserable combination of snow and rain that could make the very young and the very old catch their death. His own mother hadn't even been able to come for the same reason; her health hadn't been up to par with the season so he'd been late to the actual send-off because of it.

Not to mention… a very brief encounter with someone else along the way…

"_Oh, I didn't think I'd see you today." _

He hadn't received the mask yet by that point, yet somehow he hadn't needed it in front of her, not fearing who he was or what he was about to undertake. Maybe he simply hadn't understood at that point yet what it was all going to mean, seeing her just turned it all into another normal, average day.

"_Do we really have time for this?" _

"_No, we don't. They're waiting for you." _

But how was it average if everything had been changing so quickly? There had never been anything special about her before; the sleek lengths of red had never jumped out to him with their colour or shine. Her voice had never held anything more than callous insults, which he would've rebutted just as shrewdly on any given day.

But she had always been a constant to him; a change as everything else was in that frozen world, unlike anything he'd ever had to deal with in Vale, and yet… And yet from the first day of his arrival, weak and sick from the harsh journey even after his experience in the river, she always acted the same around him. He could always predict her; maybe it had gone both ways between them?

"_We've never actually spoken to one another, have we?" _

By that point? No, not really; arguments and battles of wit didn't count as proper conversation, not anymore than pounding on one another like brutes and rivals could be considered proper sport.

How could he remember nothing of the times after that encounter when they'd met? The heat of the southern seas fogged his memories of confronting her again, and his mind picked out nothing more than the shock of her crimson locks shorn so dramatically around her face. The change had been a surprise to him, not so much that he'd missed the conversation, but the words were just… beyond him… The cold waters of Champa were much the same; the brute muscle of her partner had set him off balance, something about knowing she was in the solitary company of someone… someone who… wasn't… him…

It was wrong to feel that way; he knew it had to be somehow. But hadn't he earned that companionship at least in part? Some sort of dependence? She had been there constantly around him for three frigid, turbulent years. Not as a comfort, not in the normal sense at least, but still a constant; someone who would always treat him the same way, no matter what was going on in either of their lives.

She was fire. She was that single flare of heat and excitement in a world locked in frozen water and sleeping stone. And she had been seen the same as her element, hadn't she? By him and others, he knew. His own friends and companions had said as much; dangerous, destructive, unpredictable and cruel. Not one to be trusted to keep distance and be complacent. Just a monster, just a creature which could attack them and would have to be cut down for it.

And… that was exactly what had happened, wasn't it? The both of them; beasts of golden scale and azure wings, their raw strength breaking free of the ice which had violated their sanctum and lair. He should've understood what was happening at the time, and maybe he had. So why then had he been so unable to act on it? Act against it? It hadn't been until the blood had settled… and the fever cooled… and then…

He ran his hands along the inside of the mask again, feeling the smoothness of the wood, the fine, solid strokes of blade and energy having done a fine job of fashioning it for him. There had been some alterations done since then, of course. He was proficient with a small knife, had whittled away at the insides to accommodate for his features.

The outside paint was chipped as well, having been carted along with him, almost in secret all around the world. His friends might not've taken well to his keeping it about him, though he couldn't fathom a reason why. It was just a mask to them, of no importance or use to anyone at all. Just him. He was the only one left alive who knew what it meant.

And that was the thought which shook him every time. Setting the mask down on his lap, he looked towards the slotted window towards the lightening sky. There was little natural light down here in his sleeping area, but that one sliver of pale rose sky told him the night was ending, and that soon the village would awaken to its strained, pensive silence. He couldn't stand to see the gold streaks against the forest green, somehow red clay and blue mountain were more bearable.

He was the only one of them left alive. Not of Prox, no, the village still stood, would no doubt begin to thrive again once the summer passages opened up again as they hadn't for several years. But of all the men and women they'd sent into the south for the Salvation of the World, of all the soldiers who had trained and taken those final steps towards the horizon –north or south-, he was the only one left standing.

He didn't even know the names of all of them, not of the ones who first went to Vale and set off the storm and the falling of the boulder. But he knew the rest, remembered their faces and voices. He knew what they'd been like without the masks, without the reasons to hide their feelings and voices. He knew why they had become so brutal by the end, he understood them, even if he hadn't agreed all the time, even if he'd stood against them in the final hour, he'd still known why.

And, again, he was the only one left who knew the reason_ why_…

* * *

"It's… disorienting to say the least." He admitted stoically.

There was a low cloud of smoke hanging in the room, a mixture of fumes from the crackling fire in the ovens behind them, and the long pipe-stem pursed between the Chief's lips. Outside the sun was shining intensely, with a glare which made Felix's tired eyes sore. Golden dust was flung into the air in small clouds whenever someone moved; it was as though the woven mats exuded dirt.

"I suppose it was like being at Air's Rock, only much worse."

"In that case, more like Venus Lighthouse." Sheba's tone wasn't meant to be so sharp, or at least he'd like to think not. She seemed a bit startled by the venom in her own words anyways, and a bashful look crept across her cheeks and she coughed and began fingering the hem of her white robes. Since she realized her error, he ignored it.

"I suppose that's fair, yes. It would be like the Serpent's Lair in Izumo all over again, only more dizzying and disorienting for you." Ivan's face scrunched up at the idea of that, and had he been in a better mood, Felix might've laughed as he watched the younger Adept try to recall the mazes of light and stone being even more confusing than they already had been.

"There must be an element of Jupiter somewhere in the mountain then." Hamma said softly, but was looking to him oddly, awaiting his opinion of this, to which he really could only nod. "If the caves are a maze for someone like you, Felix, then there must be something strange down there."

"There is nothing _'strange'_, it is the refusal of the Spirits to accept your presence in our village." Accepting the pipe from the Chief, Omata the Fortune Teller took a long, deep draw from the thin stem. His bronze face was pale, and his robes seemed slept in, several of his necklaces from before were missing as he looked worn from a lack of sleep. It seemed the girl who had fallen ill in his tent was indeed his daughter, so the additional stress was justified.

"Peace." Moapa's voice wasn't so much stern as it was very tired, white smoke drifting past his lips as he exhaled, giving his words the weight of authority. There were simply some men born to govern, and one who could enforce so much with one small word was no doubt worthy.

"There are drawings everywhere," He continued, waiting to see if the Fortune Teller had anything else to say, but the old man simply continued to suck heavily on the pipe. "Not just drawings; paintings, carvings, all shapes and sizes, colours all over the place."

"Are you sure you weren't just too tired when you went in?" Sheba asked, interrupting again, but backing herself up this time. "I mean, you only arrived the day before, and we got you up early and took you straight there. Maybe it was just some exhaustion from your trip?"

For what he'd seen? For what he'd felt? No bought of simple exhaustion could explain all of that, not so vividly, nor so suddenly. He was prepared to say as much as well, suddenly ready to take a strip off her for suggesting he was too tired to use his own element. For Mars's sake he'd _walked_ here, not fighting tooth and nail for every step taken like before! It was only the damnable sense she actually made when he took a step back and thought it through. It didn't matter enough, it was too small of an issue to argue over; he simply nodded thoughtfully for a moment before lifting his wooden cup from the floor and drinking.

"That might be possible." He admitted. It was a brew made from gold seeds the villagers grew on high stocks. Corn. He'd seen something similar in southern Osenia, but the colour was much purer now, not black and orange; the kernels were a milky gold here in the Shaman Nation. He knew it was a type of beer, could feel the numbness in his throat when he swallowed, but it was good for keeping him quiet when questioned. He felt surprisingly bitter that morning, even as the beer was sweet; so he doubted a bit of a buzz could make him feel any worse.

"This valley has many signs of elemental power, Sheba." Hamma said calmly, her feet tucked under her delicately, but she sat with her spine perfectly straight, like a board. Maybe it had something to do with her background in eastern Angara… "All of us have spent time near Trial Road; that stone is no coincidence. Felix was tired, but I'm sure he was aware enough to keep his wits about him in any other location."

Wait, had Hamma just come out of her way to defend him? He didn't know why this surprised him so much, but there was a sense of intrigue. She still wouldn't look at him either, how odd. Still though, he found himself watching Sheba as the younger woman was rebuked. It was a testy subject to say the least, and his pride was keenly aware that having Sheba come out the stronger would make him look very, very bad.

"Th-That's true…" Thankfully, Sheba realized this as well, brushing a strand of her sun-bleached hair back behind one ear, and analyzing the weave of the mats very intently.

"I would like to visit some of the homes of the stricken." He chose his words carefully, spoke them deliberately. Hamma was watching the other girl closely still, so he tried for the shift in conversation. Away from the question of his abilities –he wasn't that rusty- and away from the cave in general. He still had made no secret that he didn't want to talk about it.

"There are several households which have fallen ill, and remain so." Nodding slowly, Moapa reached on hand out towards the Fortune Teller for the pipe back. Omata seemed to be hogging the smoke, for he took another long draw before finally handing it over to the Chief.

"I will show you to a few of them, those who have not moved in many weeks. As you saw Naomi yesterday-" The Fortune Teller gave a twitch. "- you have seen that in the beginning it is as any other slumber, but there is a difference…" It was difficult to ask the next question, surprisingly so.

"Have there been any deaths?" His question was one greeted with tense silence. In a large, sprawling city such as Tolbi or Kalay such a question would be expected and curt. In a smaller, more interwoven settling like the Shamans, it was delicate.

Eyes flickered back and forth from walls, floors, and into the milky depths of corn beer and pipe tabac. It was Omata who spoke first, his cheeks drawn and eyes sunken, it seemed more as though the pipe had drawn the life out of him instead of the other way around, as Moapa was tapping the black contents out into a small clay dish specifically for that purpose.

"We would not have those of the scoundrel Yegelos here within our midst, if this were but some…" His manner had already changed so much since the day before, vaguely, Felix could only wonder if he'd also seen something unspeakable in the depths of the mountain… "…some mere slumber!"

* * *

The sun was just as intense outside as he'd expected, only worse. The golden glare cut into his eyes at sharp angles, causing him to wince in pain several times. Following after the feathered headdress of the Chief; most of the village apparently knew of him now, though for what he wasn't sure. There were several sects within the valley, but this main branch at the foot of Trial Road was still no larger than perhaps a hundred people.

Shadowed faces glanced out from behind the flaps of tents, or the curtains blocking the way into mud-brick homes. It seemed almost random to him when Moapa would change course and duck into a tent, or behind the beaded panels into the homes of his people. Random- and a direct invasion of their lives, but there was no hand raised against him or a word muttered in protest. The only reaction from the people within simply that of wondering who had stepped in, though he would admit that there were many long, nervous looks sent his way as well. It was a different culture, and Felix had learned well over the years to respect that about other nations. At least in the terms of barging into someone's home, not at being looked up to almost helplessly.

Helpless, it seemed to demeaning a word to tag onto the Shamans. They weren't weak, not by any means; he knew they were strong in their own ways. They braved the harsh summers and snowy winters of their homeland with pride, dispersing their wealth without greed to those who deserved it; they were above most petty conflicts. And although the outside world might've looked to their attachment to the legendary Hoabna as childish, what was Vale's preaching of the ancient Sages? What was the whisper of Lemuria in Tolbi? Regardless, whatever strength these people had seemed to be draining from them.

In every home they visited- he, Moapa, and the others, though Omata returned to his tent- there was someone ill. Lying as the dead on the mats so many people here made their beds on, unmoving, unresponsive, and- as Hamma had said and demonstrated to him with their hands clasped- unthinking. Hardly alive, he was shown to the bedsides of several of the stricken.

There was no pattern; an elderly couple, married long enough for grandchildren, had both fallen into a deep slumber and looked peaceful and content. In another home, a small child whose cheeks should have been round with youth were strained and white. He had been losing weight rapidly, and Felix felt as though he could feel the life draining from the tiny body.

"Is there no connection between them?" He asked softly, looking to Hamma as they made ready to leave the brick house behind. Moapa was across from them, the hands of the boy's mother enveloped in his, and they were speaking quickly and quietly. Hamma didn't answer him immediately however, gesturing for him to follow her as they left the others behind; Ivan and Sheba to continue sitting near the stricken child, Moapa with his mother.

The summer sun glared down at him pitifully.

"I fear the Fortune Teller keeps them silent." She said quietly, a shawl fringed in blue wool wrapped around her arms despite the season and the growing heat. Her silvery hair was braided behind her head instead of up in the ornate loops he remembered of her in Contigo. Her clothing was dirty, but in the same manner his was- the village wasn't the cleanest of societies, dirt and dust fell through the air like dry snow, it was impossible to escape.

"Would he hurt his own people?" He responded, following her example and keeping his voice low. They walked together, slowly moving past the silent work fires of the Shamans. Small groups of women sat weaving beaded threads into mats and clothes, men working away tanning long sheets of animal hide. Still though, the village was much too quiet, those cold fingers ever present just along the edges of his thoughts.

"For the Honour of Hoabna?" She challenged, stopping them next to one of the babbling streams which ran through the village, a rail of raw branches locked in place by twine and braces. "There is little the pride of some people _won't _do…" There was a bitter sound to her words, but he recognized the sentiments, they weren't directed at him.

"If it draws from that," Felix suggested slowly, coming up beside her as the two of them gazed into the reflective blue of the water, "If it comes from Yegelos and Hoabna, why do you stay here? We've seen no more than twelve of the ill today, the scope is small, the afflicted, few." It was a testy sort of question to ask, his comments obviously blunt; the shocked look she gave him was not unexpected.

"I can't simply leave them, I-"

"If everything you say and do is simply going to be put down and ridiculed, what point is there in being here?" He cut through her before she could say very much, and Felix knew he probably shouldn't go about things that way. Hamma blinked up at him, though he wasn't much taller than her in truth. Her eyes were exact same as Ivan's, a soft blue with a powdery glaze of violet and purple. And although Ivan's always had a hint of fierce, sharp electricity, there was more general, empowering current of power through his sister's.

When she looked away from him, he was surprised. He hadn't expected her to bend so quickly to a simple observation and challenge. What was even more surprising was how long they must've stood there staring at one another for him to notice all of the details in her eyes.

He didn't know why his next thought came to him, but… she seemed old… Not in years really, but through experience. The way she hiked up the shawl around her shoulders made him think of a woman much older them her adjusting to a cold burden only she could feel. In years, he couldn't think her to be much older than himself; maybe only a year or two. She was a small person, much like her brother.

"Why are _you_ here then, Felix?" She spoke up suddenly, pulling him from his thoughts as he looked to her again. Hamma's eyes were focused on the stream below them, hands knotted into the violet fibres of her shawl as she wouldn't look at him. Her voice was cold. "If you resent the power of Wind so much, then I don't see why you chose to come here."

"Resent the wind?" He repeated, startled by this turn in conversation. "When have I ever said something like that?" Now she looked at him, and there was a strange, guarded look in her eyes.

"You don't need to say it; it's all around you like a dusty mantle." He felt his back stiffen in insult, lips thinning as he bit down on them. It was no good though, before he could help himself he took a stab back at her. Had he brought this on himself?

"If this is appreciation, I would hate to see you indignant." He said sharply, "If I'm unnerved by how I see the elements reacting to one another, then that's my own business, don't you think?"

"That cave is a cursed place." She hissed back, although it was more of an _'indignant' _whisper. Hamma's arms were wrapped around her so tightly she was starting to shake from the strain of it. "Whatever has slept in those old stones has been awakened with Alchemy. That cave, the entire mountain, is dominating the people here."

"Don't say that!" He was shocked by his own voice; the flare of anger which surged up silenced them both for a heavy moment. He could feel his own hands clenched by his sides, his arms straining to keep the shakes away.

"It is not the mountain; it's not just the one element." Was he back-peddling? Was he trying to keep going forwards? "It's so cold down there…" He couldn't tell exactly, but knew he had to validate his own outburst; he wasn't a child who could get away with things like that.

"If not the stone then what else could it be?" Hamma asked incredulously, taken aback, but they were still butting heads, she didn't relent. "Mercury is a predominantly healing element, and we've told you several times already that none of our powers of Jupiter have been able to change anything at all. Unless there's some source of fire under the cavern…"

Now it was his turn to stare, just watch her musings with an air of disbelief. He was hearing it again; hearing that long tirade of alignment and nature. Water heals, Wind sooths, and Earth is the Bastille against the roar of the endless flames. He felt his mind revolting against what he was being told for the thousandth time; the complete innocence of two elements weighted against the complete guilt and indifference of the other two.

Hamma didn't mean it as a direct attack against him; at least he couldn't honestly think she did. But he felt the sting of her words regardless. She accused him of a bias against the wind, and yet stood here before him, murmuring to herself, considering all of the options of guilt for the elements opposed directly to her own. He'd heard similar musings before, even from Kraden and others, those who weren't adepts.

There was still a bias no matter who was stating the theory, but somehow it was more acceptable coming from the mouth of learned sages with no hopes of ever touching the elements in the same way. It was something else entirely to hear his own element being called down by a woman standing on the direct opposite side from him. He hated it, but found it almost impossible to move or speak against her.

"There is… there's no sense of fire down there." He said, feeling numb as his mind churned over this new side of her, he'd never heard her speak of the elements the way his mind always toyed with them. Isaac's distrust of Fire had never been mirrored in someone else towards the Earth…

"Then I don't know what else it could be…" Hamma was frowning up at him, but he knew she was taking his silence as some sort of agreement with her theory. He couldn't find the words or the breath to argue, so silence condemned him.

"Perhaps we can convince them to allow us to place seals over the cave for now. It will be difficult, but at least now we have one Venus Adept to speak up for us. Omata is difficult to convince of anything."

The icy drafts, the slick water, the alienation from his own element by the other two. He couldn't stand the thought of the blame being pegged on one alone. If she'd stood there and announced to him that all the troubles were the cause of the water giving life to the village, would he have been as affronted? Would he have found it so difficult to speak and tell her plainly that that couldn't be true? If he instead was convinced it was just the Wind, would she stand to hear it?

Everything held a little bit of bias. Every scrap of history, every ancient glyph, all of it was created with opinion, and every opinion was its own separate conclusion. Even he was biased… but…

"It would have been better if Isaac could have come as well. I'm sure Ivan and him would have been able to discover more of the details together about all of this. The both of you working together in the cave might've made this easier to locate any real source of the problem."

Because, obviously, he needed Isaac's help in finding that the cause of this trouble was a hybrid of several elements, not the blame of one. Isaac, with whom Felix had been forced too shout at and argue with bitterly before he'd been able to _leave_ Vale. Isaac, who was too busy working with his maps and plans to be bothered arranging the time to investigate these claims of Alchemy working foully…

It felt like they were ignoring critical information, several large pieces of the puzzle being left out of things, and yet he couldn't think of any of them. He was simply numb as he watched Hamma frown up at him.

He didn't hear what she said after that, his mind was closing in on itself, the harsh reflection of the sunlight over the blue waters piercing his mind, making it difficult to take in any new information. The red clay underfoot and blowing into the air with every breath of wind, it clogged his lungs and made him feel as stone under the grime. Maybe he was made of stone, or maybe it would've just made everything a lot simpler if he had been.

She must've said she was going to go do something, because when Felix regained enough of himself to move again, Hamma was gone. He felt the need to quickly go and find where she'd gone off to, keep her from sharing the theory she'd built up without his challenges. But the incentive died swiftly. Even if she managed to convince the Shamans of anything, seals either wouldn't work, or would have some unexpected effect. There was nothing he could think of doing, he had no real reason to intervene except for his pride, and he didn't have a theory to replace Hamma's if he disproved it anyways.

The elements worked together in nature, otherwise there would be nothing save the four raw divisions of Alchemy. Alchemy itself was the combination of two, three, or all four elements into something new and unique. It happened all the time in nature, the Elemental Spirits -the Djinn- even _instigated_ the merging of elements when they joined with an Adept not of their alignment.

But they didn't work together like this; to hurt and to harm, to disrupt and unbalance. There was truth to what Hamma said then; something old- ancient even- had been awakened. Something roused from slumber, and given the strength to start itself up again now that Alchemy had been released. But that didn't mean it was working properly, not by a long shot.

An ancient machine like the whirling metal contraptions from Tolbi's Alchemistic labs, but one so broken and un-maintained over the years that it hardly resembled what it once had been. Was that what they were dealing with? Was this some man-made beast from an age long forgotten?

How do you explain something you don't understand? Fix a process you don't know the meaning of? The purpose of many things had been lost with the light of the beacons when they'd been doused. If this was another one of those mysteries then…

How could they solve it?

* * *

**Editing's easier when you pick a week-end where you DON'T have an essay due.**


	8. Confession

**Something important to keep in mind is that Felix isn't listening to **_**everything**_** people have to say- in fact he tends to blaaaaah over quite a bit of what's said around him. This can and DOES make certain things seem irrelevant or just out of step- like Hamma's 'radical' ideas in the previous chapter, but it's really just an exceedingly heavy bias coming from Felix.**

**Just something to keep in mind.**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Confession

He surprised himself that night. He didn't know how many hours he spent running the oiled stone back and forth along the edge of his sword's blade, but there was a brief length of time near dawn where he stopped. Otherwise, there was nothing else to explain the sudden amount of sunlight pouring across his face, or the hazy memory of crimson hallways and ribbon-worked tiling.

The fading heat of Mars Lighthouse gave him a chill, distinctive and unnerving. But surprisingly he remembered little of the specifics. Ivory statues and golden columns weren't the stuff of nightmares, so when he slept, he must've slept well.

The day, regrettably, was not nearly so smooth. Arguing, bickering, debating; Felix felt as though he'd been nailed down onto his spot on the floor, his legs having fallen asleep hours before as the voices around him stuck into his mind like pins. When had Sheba and Ivan learned to speak in unison while arguing together? He couldn't remember them doing that before; it hurt his ears and grated on his nerves.

Moapa filled and tapped out the long pipe several times over the course of the meeting, often adding his own stern comments to the debate. Felix found himself thinking of the Chief as a referee throughout the morning and late afternoon, cutting into a particular flurry of comments from the irate Fortune Teller, or biting back at Ivan or Hamma overstepping their bounds. He'd begun to wonder by the end what exactly the mixture of herbs was; the Chief wasn't sharing nearly as much as he had the day before, and was by far the most sedated and calm of the actual debaters.

And Felix himself? He had almost nothing to say, his ire from the day before and Hamma's accusations had left him… just _drained_… He didn't challenge her theory as she gave it, but spoke up to everyone's surprise to agree with Omata when the Fortune Teller denounced the idea of the mountain itself working against them. There was no point in his taking the argument any further though; she was proposing a seal and for all he knew that might very well work.

Once his two bits were shared on that issue, he found he had almost nothing to say on anything else. Mostly it was one question, one issue, and one problem; only the Contigans had the skills and power necessary for that sort of magic work, could the Shamans allow for that?

He was lost for most of the discussion, and several times debated simply getting up and leaving them behind for the rest of the day. The sky was overcast, without the same harsh glare as before, so he wasn't worried to go out, stretch his legs, and perhaps do something useful around the village. But he never actually moved, simply sat there, pegged to the floor and occasionally sipping from a wooden dish filled with water.

Every now and then Moapa's wife would circle through the room and refill drinks of corn beer or fresh water. If she seemed troubled by the noise going on in her household, she hid it well, merely making her rounds periodically before vanishing elsewhere in the home. Despite the constant offers, he kept his distance from the alcohol. The allure of drunkenness was difficult to ignore, but he had more self-control than that... Their lunch was flat-bread and fish boiled with vegetables and broth, but only Moapa actually finished more than half of his portion.

It was the sort of conversation where nothing said made any sense to him anymore; it was just endless sounds and noises. But the atmosphere was one where, no matter how numb he felt in both body and mind; he couldn't very well drift off to sleep. Even if sleep had not been something for him to directly avoid, he knew he wouldn't have been able to doze off anyways. He tried to relate it to the business meetings in Vale, but that comparison fell through rather quickly. As dull and tedious as Isaac's ventures could be, as menial and petty as the numbers and maps could be, at least they made a twisted sort of sense. This didn't, this was just a whirling top of tradition and trepidation. But despite the metaphor, he was still surprised when the discussion rattled to a stop, like the spinning of the top losing momentum and toppling over.

"You would have us shame every member of our tribe!"

"We would have you _keep_ every member of your tribe!"

"_Grand-father!_"

"Why not topple every pillar along Trial Road, as to defile our sacred grounds!"

"Don't tempt us; it just might do you some good!"

"_Papa!__** PAPA!!**_"

He had to shake his head once before he realized the high calls were real; and not some figment of his numb mind. Those icy fingers had been reaching for him all day as the talks wore on, trying to snatch at the pieces of red tile and golden flame despite his efforts to keep them out. It was like listening to a mirage to hear past the arguing and his own muddled thoughts though, if only the shrieks hadn't been so insistent…

The heavy cloth mats hanging over the door to the Chief's home burst in and to the sides, cutting through the sharp comments being tossed back and forth between Ivan and Omata. Stunned, Felix reached out and caught the old man who had been seated next to him for most of the day, a small, tanned body clinging to the Fortune Teller's robes. Likewise, at the furthest end of the room, Moapa was attempting to pry his daughter's small form off from where she'd latched onto his beaded chest.

Felix could remember having seen Moapa's daughter the day he'd arrived, as well as that time years ago when he'd visited the Shaman Nation on the way to earning the Hover Jade and access to Jupiter Lighthouse. She'd grown since that long-past visit of course, her black hair done into many tiny braids and tied up in a bun atop her head. A sash of violet cloth served as a skirt over the long white robe she wore, but she was still small of course, no more than nine or ten. When the Chief managed to pull her face from him, speaking quietly and with his accent too heavy to be understood, there was an involuntary yank at Felix's heartstrings to see her face.

There were glistening tear tracks running down her face, and without saying a word the child gave a sobbing wail. Whether it was from having had a younger sibling or some other experience, Felix knew instantly- as did the rest of them- that this was no tantrum cry. There was the distant sound of something breaking in another part of the dwelling before Moapa's wife was there with them as well, stricken as the small child clung avidly to whichever parent was closest, Moapa conceding and wrapping her up closely in his arms.

"Naomi… Naomi…" This from the other child, and Felix felt something cold send a chill down his spine. Face down in the Fortune Teller's lap, it was no hard stretch to recall the boy as having been the one singing prayers only days before in Omata's own tent.

There was not another word spoken, a blanket was handed to the Fortune Teller by the Chief's wife, all animosity and bitterness immediately forgotten as he bundled the child up and stood despite the weight. He said nothing as he ducked outside with the eerily silent child, and Felix didn't wait for the others as he quickly stood and followed.

He had thought the village much too quiet since arriving, but what it had been for days was nothing compared to the dead silence now. The scuff of his boots against the dry ground seemed to echo endlessly past the mud-brick houses and canvas tents. The old man was moving quickly, a dusty trail in his wake as he held the child to his shoulder, and Felix followed as closely as he could without impeding on the other man.

He was no healer, he was no priest. Felix had saved lives indirectly through his actions, or in the heat of the moment in battle, when a shock of energy could heal a wound or rejuvenate the mind. But more than anything he knew of blood, and he knew of what it meant to have life end, either around or because of him. He had nothing to do with this directly, and yet in a place where he had been called to help, in such an eerie calm, how could he not feel even an inkling of guilt?

It was a different series of moans and voices from the lone tent as Felix moved through the fingers of crimson stone and dry clay. He'd felt eyes on him all through the village as they'd passed silent homes, and he could hear the distant scuffle off feet as he wasn't the only on following along. Once the beaded walls of the Fortune Teller's separate pavilion came into view, the grief on the wind felt like a noose around his neck, tightening and causing a hard pain to form in the centre of his throat. There was no mistake; there was no revision or reconsidering the facts.

As Omata entered the tent with his grandson, Felix did not follow. Despite the culture, despite the differences, despite the politics, the precedent, and the blame, he would not follow. He stopped dead across from the lonely fire pit several yards before the tent, and he did not move any closer.

He would let Naomi's family mourn in peace.

* * *

He had observed many rituals from all around the world over the years. Each one had its own unique superstitions and folklore; ceremonies within ceremonies. How a new babe was treated in the western Isles was a far cry from the precedent in a place like Kalay. People welcomed the seasons differently in Madra than they did in Vault, or in the Jungles of southern Gondowan.

Naomi's body was wrapped in the blankets of the cot where she'd died, and then burned on a large dry pyre. For the next several days, there was a constant flow of gifts into the Fortune Teller's home; dried meats, preserved fruits, blankets, tools, leather, cloth, feathers, beads. At first glance, it seemed a large bounty for the family to collect, but it wasn't so. Winter was months away, but was still a difficult time none the less. These provisions would serve them well…

The death also set off a series of subtle reactions within the Village, and if Felix hadn't known better, he'd have said they sparked a bit of a change in the Fortune Teller. He didn't know if it was just grief which weakened the old man's resolve, but he became quieter, more withdrawn, the weight of his robes seemed to be crushing him. His kin were not the first to scatter ashes at the river, and at the mouth of the cave, but his daughter had caught ill and died within a space of only three days. No one else had succumbed so quickly.

It lit a fire under Hamma and the others, and grudgingly he sided with them. There was something wrong, and it had to be sealed. He forced himself to change his passive position for them; there was nothing to lose at this point except more lives.

"But _why…?_" There was something missing…

He was leaning against one of the sun-bleached fences which criss-crossed the village, looking down across the red banks towards the flow of clear blue water on its way across the valley. Absently, he found himself occasionally tossing small clay stones into the flow; watching as they dissolved and were carried away.

Despite all that had been happening, Felix had slept better over the past handful of days than he could remember since settling back into Vale. He'd been woken once or twice with images of red tile swimming through his mind, but the sensations had faded quickly. Now, if only those icy, painful fingers would leave him alone… And if he could find those missing pieces of their puzzle…

Yes, missing. Something was definitely missing. But he couldn't think of how to find it. What was the reason? Why was it happening? It was all well and good to claim that the merging of elements in the mountain were _'evil'_, but nothing was evil or intentionally cruel without some sort of backstage motive. There was no crime without a motive, even if one excused the other; they were still two halves of something bigger.

"Something we're not seeing…" He mumbled, resting his chin down on his arms as he stared down at the water. He didn't bend down this time to search for another piece of earth to toss in, too lazy in body and anxious of mind.

A small clod of red earth was strikingly clear to him as it came under his focus. No stones keeping it together in the middle; only dried and tangled old roots holding the soil in a little flat. His eyes traced a path towards the water, and of its own accord -well, almost- the clod started along the same route. It gave a_ 'leap' _into the blue stream, and his eye seemed to catch and slow down the separation of the water, how it retreated before surging up to wash across the surface of the other element. Tiny fingers of liquid bit deep, before the earth was enveloped and quickly began to crumble…

Amusing to watch, but completely pointless… It solved nothing...

"Uuh…" Pulling his head up, Felix was caught off a bit to find someone watching him. No, that wasn't right way of putting it, more like waiting, anxiously awaiting notice.

"Uuh… I uhh…" It was a young man, a few years younger than him, maybe. His hair was a tousled brown, held back with a bandana of red cloth across his brow which had it stick up at odd angles. He wore the soft, beaded shoes and doe-skin leggings of his people, ashes scattered across his copper cheeks as a sign of mourning. There was little remarkable about him really, save for a chipped tooth when he parted his thick lips nervously, wetting them as he searched for the words.

"…?" Not speaking first, Felix turned properly towards the other man, one hand remaining on the fence as he watched and waited. Clearly, the young Shaman was anxious about something, fidgeting his hands and wringing his fingers nervously as he looked quickly from side to side. Was someone watching them, or was he just afraid someone might start to? Quickly, and with deliberate care, he was summoned with a few sharp waves of the other man's hand.

"Come, p-please come." His accent was thick, but combined with the gesture his point came across clearly. Not understanding, Felix didn't bother to ask what was wrong, nodding simply and following as the Shaman turned and quickly started walking through the village.

They headed away from the clusters of tents and the crooked streets, north towards the red and blue mountains before reaching the thicker path towards Trial Road. He could hear the soft moan of the winds collecting ahead, a stray breeze drifting across the back of his neck, causing him to shiver with discomfort. Before reaching the twisted stone and its sandy backdrop however, his guide abruptly broke away on a smaller, hidden path. It was little more than an overgrown crevasse in the stone, but was wide enough for them to climb through.

At first, the idea of the cloven stone made Felix's stomach queasy, disliking the sense of power the wind held here although he tried to crush it. It was easier than he'd thought it would be however, as they quickly came to an open dell. He blinked several times to see it, watching as his guide clambered down into the sunken abode without hesitation, looking back up at him where Felix remained perched in the rocky crevasse.

It was a small glade, surrounded not by trees and shrubs, but by the solid walls of red stone. A tiny clear-water spring bubbled in the centre, seeping out of a smooth indent in the wall. There was soil here, and as he slid down the small rock face, he could feel the sense of life around him. It took him a moment to recognize the greenery scattered along the edges of the bowl and pond as being herbs, so many different plants all fighting with one another for the small amount nutrients the soil provided.

It was Alchemy, of a sort at least. It was the type which hadn't had a chance to dry up and scatter since the dousing of the Lighthouses centuries before. The presence of the spring and the safety of the earth had nurtured life.

"Ah waha lheta urhou…" Turning, Felix noted the distressed look in the other man's eyes, watched how dark eyes darted around the dell with pain and tears welling inside.

"Slow, slow down." Walking over, he held up his hands, trying to keep his voice soft, "I can't understand, slow, slow…" His words had an impression, but not enough. Steeling himself, Felix had to wet his own lips for a moment, trying to force a heavier accent to make himself understood.

"I was told… not to speak to you… or anyone…" Maybe he wasn't a man yet, close though, standing on the brink of child and manhood, but not completely over the fence just yet. "No outsider I was told, no outsider must know… Naomi…" Using one hand to cover his mouth as he fought with the words, Felix felt the need to look away as a few tears slipped down the boy's cheeks, a sorrowful sort of guilt shining through his eyes.

"She used to come here, and we would pick the herbs for her to dry with her mother and mine…" The accent was slipping in again, mulling words and tenses as Felix closed his eyes to focus on meaning, not sound. "We bring seed and sure they grew so always be some… She kep all in her basket, a small one; she made for this place… But then I…" Patience, another gesture with his hands; he had to be patient. Felix waited as well as he could for the boy to keep his calm, keep his thoughts in order.

Reaching for the water skin at his waist, Felix undid the straps and quietly knelt down at the spring. He filled the bottle up high before bringing it back, letting the other man sit down and drink from it.

"But then I… I stop coming for the herb, I come for her instead. Just be near her, y'know? I… I wanted to hear her laugh, and see her smile… She love to sing so sweetly… I couldn't help my thoughts…" Watching as the other man lowered his head onto one hand, Felix felt himself grimace. Was this going to be a-

"Maybe," He said softly, not liking the direction this confession was going. There were lots of things young men liked to think about concerning the women they worked closely with. Whatever meaning or logic there was behind those thoughts was a moot point most of the time. And in this case, the girl's ashes were still on the wind- and he hadn't even known her! "Maybe this isn't something I should-"

"No! Please, you listen!" That settled things; the other boy seemed to jump up at Felix's half-uttered suggestion of silence. He probably could've pressed it further, everything could always go further, but was it worth it? Biting his lip, he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable with the other man's tears, it just… wasn't something he'd ever grown up with or become accustomed to. Other places had other views, but that sort of open emotion was… not the norm for him.

"Please!"

"Alright! I'm listening…" It couldn't be that much longer, could it? If this was all he thought it was, then it would only be a few more minutes of discomfort, and then he'd feel better and Felix would be able to go off and drown himself in a vat of the corn beer…

"I could live not that way. I had free my heart, not hurt anyone." He seemed more intense now in his narrative as he spoke, watching keenly as if daring Felix to speak up and bid for silence a second time. "I go to the Fortune Teller and tell him of the pain in my heart, naming no names, for that is not our way, and not telling him who or where I met this girl, or why the thought pained me. And then…" A breath, a break…

This story wasn't going how he'd thought it would though. Without being completely away of it, Felix found himself paying closer attention. The question of who had sworn him to silence- a vow now forgotten- was now answered, Omata's name only needed to be mentioned to put the blame on him. Not unexpected though, the old man was against them as surely as the Golden Sun would set that evening.

"He handed me charcoal, and a paddle of red paint, and he sent me into the cave. It was hard not to look at Naomi as she mixed the red, but I stopped. I was going to cleanse myself, and I did." A curious look came into his dark eyes as he spoke, and he addressed Felix directly, speaking more calmly and casually now than he had at any other point thus far, his meaning becoming clearer as the words seemed to reform, not break down further.

"You are not familiar with our ways, Outsider?" Surprised, Felix shook his head.

"No, I know the general idea." He allotted, "You paint an image of your guilt on the walls of the cave; I've seen some of them."

"By confessing to the mountain and yourself, you ease the guilt and the pain; the spirits watch over and forgive you. It was so difficult for me…" He was smiling as he spoke now, but that sadness was creeping back into his eyes, making the expression seem so pained. Felix bit back another frown, not wanting to have the tear tracks down the other man's face renewed… "I fell asleep for several hours before crawling back out again… I… I looked to Naomi that night without shame… I felt freed." The tears came, and yet Felix didn't feel himself shrink back. Instead, there was a silent _'click'_, somewhere in his mind.

"And now… Naomi… Ahhh…!" Not the same as a lock being sprung, or a door opening, but more the sense of the key being entered into the lock itself. Not yet turned, nothing yet changed, but still… one step closer. One more piece…

"Naomi…!"

"When was this?" He'd been staring at the rock wall he hadn't known how long, the smell of thyme and thistle reaching him as he noticed for the first time that he'd felt no icy fingers since entering the dell. His question was met with nothing more than wracking sobs however, and Felix looked down to see the other man bent over himself with his hands in his face.

"Answer me… When was this?..!" He had to reach down and hoist the Shaman up by his uncovered arms, his tears flowing freely as he stared up at him with a look of confusion and surprise. "When!?"

"B-Before moon-!"

"New?"

"N-new?"

"Black! No moon!"

"Y-Yes!" Calm; so eerie, so strange. It descended down upon him like a heavy mantle. He felt himself lowering them both back down to the ground, the Shaman looking at him with apprehension. Felix's eyes were elsewhere however. They traced out the perfect circle of the dell, no more than several steps from edge to edge. Rosemary, thistle, thyme, mint, so many spices, they couldn't all be native to these forests. Perhaps some had been traded over the years, from Contigo, from Loho, maybe even Gondowan. It was all a red bowl with a halo of green surrounding the stone pool and its babbling mouth in the wall.

"I was here…" Looking back to the young Shaman, his eyes too were following the lines and colours of the Dell. His voice was soft, his accent coming back thickly, but since he took his time and care with the words, Felix still understood them. "With the sunlight overhead… Naomi wasn't, but I could hear her voice, soft and sweet on the winds… And her basket, so small and quaint, filled with new seeds and fresh leaves. She wove it from valley grasses, I gave her a horn from a hunt, and she used it for the handle over her arm. It was floating in the pond, like a little canoe…"

"Did you draw it?" They were both watching the pond now, as if expecting the basket to appear there, bobbing on the gentle current of the spring. Felix looked away from it first though, looking back towards the Shaman, his turn now to speak calmly and slowly so the other man could understand him. "What did you draw, to ease the pain in your heart? To put your mind to rest, and appease the Spirits to let you rest?"

The Shaman looked at him for a long, long time, at his leisure turning his tousled head from the silent pool of water over to him, and back again. The sun had moved across the sky farther than Felix would've expected, the lip of light bending down over the smooth edge of the dell, but still a good foot or so above their heads. He hadn't even noticed he'd taken a lazy seat down next to the Shaman until he felt his arm begin to tingle, wedged between his body and the stone.

"No other woman had a basket like Naomi's…" He said; voice hoarse with the daytime heat. Felix handed him the skin again without thinking, not saying anything else as that eerie calm remained with him. There were no cold fingers here, and aside from the yellowed grass of the valley, this was the first greenery he had seen since leaving the forests and wetlands behind for the mountains.

"It was me- you remember- I set it in her hands before the pyre was lit…"

* * *

**31/10/08**

**The shaman boy originally spoke normally and with rather pretty speech, but I took that out and chopped up the words, the typo 'kep' for 'kept' is intentional, since if you slur the word just enough when speaking quickly, the T is dropped first.**


	9. Dreaming Truths

**This chapter up 'till the end is where the Felix-Centric nature of this story starts to really bite. ****It's up to me to properly convey what's going on in the next few chapters, just so it makes sense, but that's a big challenge. You'll have to forgive Felix's roundabout deductions since it's rather hard to get across everything.**

**Hope the edit cleans some earlier problems up though.**

* * *

**Chapter ****Eight**

Dreaming Truths 

He couldn't help himself, he had to know. He didn't ask the Shaman's name before he left, just left him there as he climbed out of the small garden and back onto the path between Trial Road and the village.

He retraced his steps to several small homes, walking numbly from tent to tent, trying to coax family members away from the bedsides of the ill and speak to them. He'd been told already of the vowed silence over the villagers, how they wouldn't speak without Omata removing their pledge, but he tried anyway. Would it have made more sense to simply go to the Fortune Teller and demand the change? Perhaps. But would it have been worth it in the end if all he discovered was that his plans amounted to nothing? No. It'd only form a wider, more dangerous rift between the two camps.

He was met with stern looks and silence, be it at the bedside of a child wasting away to nothing, or on the threshold of a home where both parents lay in slumber. He tried to put it into the context of what this would be in the East, of knocking on doors, asking people to tell him what they had said in the safe, secure environments of the local Sanctum. Nowhere did he expect to find answers, or a reprieve from the stony disapproval, but he searched anyways, combing through the village until the sun had completely vanished for the day, and Luna was slowly creeping over the eastern horizon.

He should've felt defeated when he returned to Moapa's home, finding that the meal had already finished and been cleared away. He simply shook his head at the mention of having something prepared especially for him, accepting the disapproving look from the Chief's wife; he'd earned it by staying out so long. He didn't feel hungry as he washed up and went down to bed, but knew he ought to've.

He meant to think on it long and hard, all the missing pieces and scattered truths about the village, the illness and the cave. How those in slumber had no thoughts, couldn't respond, how they were dying. Instead, he was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

* * *

He was there, traversing the ribboned pathways of crimson tile and golden inlay. The orange flames beckoned him on, silently ominous in their mighty sanctum. He felt no fear, the world a blur as his feet carried him forwards. Any conscious turns he made to avoid his destination were foiled, the corridors and caverns looping endlessly into one another, so that there was no entrance, only a single exit.

All was not as memory served however, though his mind swam with images and feelings he could put no words to. Dragging his heavy heart behind him, the unnatural cold passed over him like a snowy breeze does a great boulder. Dark and grey, no reaction to the world around it; though where a boulder would sit stark and unmoving, he remained mobile.

It occurred to him once or twice to simply stop, and see what then the sanctum and serpents would do to usher him on, but it was for naught. He could not stop, he simply kept going forwards, endlessly trudging, parting the mists he could not remember having previously invaded the belly of this infernal place.

Yes, there were mists, just as there was ice along walls, frosting the bases of silent pillars. So many times the corridors became black around him, the torches burnt out, their oil replaced with water which could certainly never burn. Even standing upon the threshold of his journey's last leg, it wasn't the same.

Where was that river of molten earth? That constant churning of Mars and Venus that was so like him? Slow moving and weighted with the heavy burden and care of stone and earth, mixed with the vibrant life and heat of fire? His blood was just as mixed, and yet he felt dead inside, his own flames snuffed to see the final corridor so black.

He'd been cold inside for a long time, hadn't he? His flames had died, their embers cooled, it'd been in this very place where the change had overcome him. He'd destroyed something here, and killed that fiery part of his blood. Denied it, tried to be like the people elsewhere wanted him to. He'd tried to be Valean, and yet it was as wrong to him as it was to see the icy frost along the red tiles, the molten river on either side of him still and stone, cold and dead.

Where was the tiny flame his memories and nightmares always brought to him? He couldn't see it, hovering there atop its tiny pedestal, waiting for some great power to urge it into a full blaze of heated glory. The chamber beyond him was black, completely so, he could see no dragon-busts, no mighty fangs or glowing eyes of red gold. If he saw anything at all, it was the alien light of blue ice and white frost.

He moved through darkness, complete and silent but for his footfalls atop the thin layer of frozen water. There was a draft here, somewhere, as strange to him as the other element it had bonded with. Here, in the bowels of the sanctum, of the very world, was not the refuge of Water and Wind, but the kingdom of his own blood and element. Where was the fire? Why did his heart feel so cold within the stone?

The light came from the ice, not some late-in-coming flame. His breath caught, and his heart fell. There were no dragons here, no red tiles, no gold or shimmering torches. Sheets of ice he could tell as several feet thick layered the walls and statues before him, the draft carrying small snowflakes lazily down from the darkened ceilings above. Before the walls, flanking the empty pedestal, barren of its hopeful flame, were two mammoth burgs of ice. They stood tall and eerily proud before him, barring his way, the snow swirling lazily around their base and up to the high crowns of those icy spires.

There was a chink of ice, the squelch of something wet under his foot as he stepped forwards. Looking down, his vision swam with the flakes of white and mist before clearing. A wide puddle, half-frozen and layered with panels of thin ice was under him, seeping from the base of the right-most half of the burg. An inkling of remembrance stirred in his mind, his senses should've been clear and heightened in a place such as this, but weren't, they were clouded terribly.

The differences didn't end, not even when he knelt down to the blood, touching it hesitantly with one gloveless hand- he wore none of his outer gear or armour here for some reason. The bits of ice dug into his fingers like tiny blades, cold, but with a fluid, fleshy feel against his skin. His hand came away wet and red, but for the life of him he couldn't tell whether it was his own blood, or the old that had lain here for so long in the cold.

He was looking back up at the ice when the tremor hit. It wasn't enough to unbalance him, his legs adjusting to the shakes and trembles easily, hardly feeling them in fact as the earth at last gave some sign of awakening. It was not enough to crack a tile, or send stone to the ground, but had a much grander effect.

Fissures opened up along the iced wall, and the burgs before it. He found himself stepping back in silent alarm, just in case something was to go amiss. It was all eerily familiar to him, yet still not so.

Before him, the spire of ice farthest to his left shattered, dispelling the snow and the mists around it as a fierce cry of something animal echoed around him, shaking him and causing his knees to give out and send him to the floor. His heart was in his throat as he felt a sudden rush of heat against his cheeks, his skin pained with the cold that had been growing more chill with time. The draft from before was a full wind, but it carried heat for a moment as flame and light filled the air.

A great, winged beast of flame emerged from the icy shell, melting the ice down to a stub of its former self. Felix couldn't bear to watch it for very long however, not even seeing where it vanished too in the chamber or the corridors beyond. He ducked his head down as the wind kicked up and the heat blazed over him, but all too quickly it was silent, and the cold came rushing back.

The silence and the darkness were both so complete when he lifted his eyes, and for a moment Felix felt himself tumbled back into the endless bleak of the chambers before. That wasn't the case however, that eerie blue glow returning to him as he looked up, stood up, and stepped forward to examine the damage.

The lack of it was a shock to him, disheartening even. Only the one half of the ice which had birthed the dragon had melted away. The wall beyond still white with frozen water, the dragons still hidden, still cloaked in icy cold.

There was the sharp, shrieking scrape of metal on ceramic tile, something which made Felix jump before trying to find the source of it. He found it where he'd been standing before, over the red slurry at the base of the second iceberg. The long handle was blackened with age, scuffed with use; the details had been worn off by endless handling and rough work. The handle's black fingers were coiled around the head of the blade like the hands of an old crone. The sharp, wicked edge of the curved metal was threatening even in the low, unnatural light of the ice.

Even without its mistress present, Felix couldn't find a way to bare picking the scythe up from where it rested in the crimson pool. His eyes traveled along every inch of it that he could see from afar, the dark closing around him and blocking out almost everything else in the chamber.

But what his mind couldn't block out; was the shape the ice had chosen to take, standing over both the pool and the weapon, the second half of the burg. The ice had not shattered like it had along the other side, but it had still been altered, and very drastically at that. Several inches of ice from all areas had melted off, perhaps even steamed away to join the mists curling frigidly about him still. And the result of this…

Was an angel..? Far larger than life, standing well over three times his size. Wings carved in perfect proportions to her body, a serene face shadowed by the high hood of a cloak. Not a travelers cloak though, but the robes of true authority. In her hand she held out a scale with two sides, balanced perfectly together, the other hand drawn up and held under the chin in a sign of prayer.

All around the statue, along its base, the mists gathered and shone with a pale colour, the lightest of violets, shy blues and greys. They coiled about and through one another endlessly, and aura of calm and tranquility. But the statue itself had done something strange, something none of the other ice could possibly mimic…

It shone… red. Red with heat, with fire. A red light captured within an icy cocoon, pulsing like a heartbeat, suspended, for he could easily see the centre of it, the place in the statue where that fire radiated, where it was trying to break free, yet couldn't…

He couldn't stop himself, couldn't convince himself to try and hold back. His hand touched the ice and he couldn't pull back, coming close enough so his nose nearly grazed along frigid, glistening surface. There was a sheen of water all along the statue, the fall of her robes capturing the light from within, bending it, like a twisted prism.

And then he could hear it, feel it even, the distant, uneven sound of scratching, of thuds and thumps against the ice under his palm. He could feel his own heart thundering in his ears, beating rapidly in his throat. Trapped, trapped inside, unable to get out… no…

Frozen in ice… no…

Trapped by the winds… no!

The earth unyielding, unmoving, dark and unfeeling, too dead inside too so much as-

"_NO!!_" Wake up!

* * *

His hands and face felt like ice when he awoke, throwing the covers aside as he made himself stand up. He'd never slept well in Vale, yet now he could hardly sit on his own bed here without falling asleep.

He rose quickly, dressing just as fast. He found himself rubbing his hands, trying to get the feeling back into them. The heat of the summer couldn't reach him down here, silver moonlight streaming in through the thin slatted window looking down into this cellar area where he slept.

He couldn't get the icy blush out of his face, but as he tossed his scarf on in a rude attempt to banish it, he couldn't stand to wait any longer. He practically charged up the wooden step ladder into the upper portion of the dwelling, looking around blindly once on the main floor for the next ladder up into the family's sleeping area.

Was it worth it to be doing this? Carousing around in the middle of the night, sure to cause a stir as he tried to find his way around without tripping over mats and cushions? Was it worth it to go around now with his questions, looking for answers, and not wait until a decent hour sometime in the later morning?

Yes, yes it was worth it, and that in itself was a grand revelation for him. Something was finally worth it- this was definitely worth it.

"Moapa!" He'd abstained from using the Shaman accent as much as he could over the past fortnight. Not knowing why, preferring for them both to make an effort to understand one another, outsiders and Shamans slowing down and speaking carefully. He had no such reservations now, rolling whatever letters and sounds needed to be pitched and accented as he rudely climbed up onto the second level.

"Moapa, I must speak with you! Now!" His barging in led immediately to a spear-point held in his face, his eyes quicker to adjust to the low light than the Chief's. He watched as Moapa's sleep-glazed eyes closed and focused on him drowsily, the Chief's wife making a soft, startled sound before rolling over and checking her daughter on another fur mat out of sight.

"W-what is…?" The spear was lowered; Felix didn't come up completely, remaining with his upper-half sticking up through the hole in the floor and ceiling. He'd never seen the sleeping area during either day or night, but took absolutely no time to try straining his eyes in the darkness now.

"Now! Right now, you must answer me!" He didn't try to harness himself, didn't make a feeble grasp for his patience in the matter- even lower his voice. He made his demand and he left it there, waiting for the Chief to finish moving the blankets around himself, and looking towards Felix as if he were a madman. The chief looked so strange without his decorative headdress or paints, but he spoke pointedly with his accent.

"If this discussion is to be long, it shall wait until morni-"

"No! It's not long, just please, answer me!" The ice invading a most precious sanctum, unmoving earth, dying and allowing all around it to run rampant and unchecked…

"The Shaman Nation, what was its place in the world before this one?" A dragon of flame, bursting free from its chains, trumpeting loudly to begin the regeneration of its homeland, and thus the world itself.

"Every scripture, every painting, every story you've ever heard. The answer must be somewhere, think, Moapa, you must!" The eerie half-light of the ice, snow falling indoors where it is neither wanted nor proper to be.

"I am! What has gotten into you, Felix?" The disapproval in Moapa's voice was keen, the deep undertone rumbling through his voice like distant thunder. But he could not be swayed, he was on the brink, he knew it, he needed only to think, he only needed this answer! "I do not… know…"

His face fell, he knew it did, there was no other reason for the Chief to look at him so strangely as he fought with the words. Felix could feel himself slack-jawed already, something churning inside of him that he hadn't felt in so long, and yet here it was, being cut short..?

"Perhaps Omata-" The chief-

No more! He couldn't stand anymore_ 'perhaps's_ or _'suppose's_. No more careful considerations or tentative plans. He jumped from the ladder, literally so, just dropped out of sight with hardly a care for whatever he trampled over to get to the doorway. He heard the echo of Moapa's voice shouting after him angrily in the darkness, but couldn't stop to heed the one call with another ushering him on so strongly.

The shadows and the blue light of the mood played tricks on the eye; the red soil was a series of violets and deep cobalt shine as he ran. Only his sense of the earth kept him from stumbling into fences or falling fully into the side of a tent or two as he stampeded past. The air held an evening chill to it, one which frightened him with memories as he blindly passed over the quiet babble of the streams, thumped loudly across the wooden bridges.

He stumbled half-blind through the fingers of rock which quartered off the Fortune Teller's tent, a way he'd felt he'd come nearly a hundred times or more since his arrival here days and days ago. When had the moon risen so full? It had been the New Moon when he'd arrived, the sky black but for the twinkling of stars up overhead. Tonight though, it was nearly full, perhaps completely so if he'd had the mind to look up and take a moment to check.

But there was no time to check now, he knew what he needed, and any deity be damned if he were to stray from that point now!

* * *

**I'm, actually quite furious with this chapter upon revision. I don't know what the heck happened, but it feels like I'm missing a huge chunk of text between ending Eight and starting Nine! I substituted in the last line here at the end to make a better transition because I KNOW something's missing but I can't remember WHAT it was exactly.**

**No idea what happened, but at least now it carries into next chapter a bit better.**

**  
And for this edit I ought to've been posting the dates at the bottom, not the top. Meh.**

**31/10/08**


	10. Artist's Interpretation

**And, continuing on… Last chapter was supposed to be more quick-paced and cryptic, but I think the objects of obsession should come through here in Nine.**

**Braveheart continues to carry the edit, but I shifted to Ascension of the Spirit by Evanescence for this part.**

* * *

**Chapter Nine **

Artist's Interpretation 

It was as damp and cold as he remembered it to be, perhaps even more so. The slick wet across the walls shimmered like thick lacquer over polished stones. The thousands of scrawling images from past and present blurring to him with there charcoal smudges and pigmented lines.

'_Highly revered across the mountains and the oceans…'_ His torch by some miracle had not yet blown out with the speed he traveled, had there been but a breath of wind in the stagnant air it would've been enough to finally snuff the flames. It was a wonder as well how he didn't slide or trip over his own feet again.

'_A seat of great justice. Our nation set down many laws and upheld still more; peoples from all across Weyard would journey here to hear our judgement on matters of all kinds.'_ He hardly remembered grabbing the torch; let alone lighting it before bolting into the cavern. Had anyone followed him? He'd left suddenly, but couldn't hear anything more than the faded echo of voices calling his name, he'd left behind with no explanation or excuse.

'_These mountains were once the atriums of our justice, and the cavern of which you speak held the highest place of all… the reason for this, however, is lost to us now… It remains a place of sanctuary, Chieftain, I need not explain that part as well, do I?' _

A place of courts and trials, judicial law, settling treaties and punishing crimes; upholding order. What better task was there for a branch of Jupiter's own? Her image marking the very way, if he'd taken the time to more closely look at those fingers of rock outside, could they perhaps bear the faded marks of ancient artisan's tools?

But for every courthouse there is another structure added on, a companion of sorts. To understand the manner and method of a crime is not all practitioners of the law seek. There is still the act of punishment, of enforcing those laws put into place by society, to protect and reflect the will and wishes of its members.

'_Where was the Prison?' _

'_What?' _

Yes, the prison, the jailhouse, the bastion. There was the glory and regal pomp of the law, he knew that could not have been much different in the Golden Age as it was now, if anything, only more complicated and prestigious. But there would always be that darker side, of dim, cramped cells and poor food. He had never been kept as a criminal before, and had no wish to ever find himself in such a position. But he knew there was rampant mistreatment of those who were kept thus, and that corruption again was as timeless as the practice which hid it.

Jupiter, wind. The element of the mind and its secrets, able to peer into the very soul of those under questioning, prying deeply into the heart's hidden crevices. The ability to read other's minds through super-natural tendencies was difficult to control, simply because of the temptation posed by such a ready power. He'd seen the struggle on the faces of Sheba, and later Ivan as they'd traveled across the world in search of secrets and ancient treasures.

If such an ability were instilled into something… lacking… a human mind… what then? An item able to delve into the hearts and souls of those before it, weeding out all lies, drawing forth all truths and absolutes like a hook down a fish's gullet. In a place of justice and order, such a tool would be invaluable, wouldn't it? Something only Alchemy could feasibly produce. Something only it could power and maintain.

But why stop there?

'_This… this is…' _

Once those truths are revealed, what then? The perpetrators must be punished for their crimes, punished accordingly of course, but none the less penalized for their actions. What then? Not dangerous enough for permanent removal from society, not enough for the executioner's axe or the hangman's noose, but still with guilt and shame too great to just send them off with a slap on the wrist. Time spent away from others was the normal treatment; time incarcerated, kept away, isolated and reformed before release.

'_No! That is not possible!' _

What if there was a way to do that to someone, where it was impossible for them to interact, but without the physical demands of living apart? Time to reflect, time to think better of their actions, but removing the air of abuse, the foul conditions and unpalatable food. All of the isolation without any of the bitter memories of unfair treatment, wouldn't that be something perfect? A system only Alchemy could make possible, and what would that matter if Alchemy were a limitless resource?

Limitless, until someone extinguished all four sources…

Unbidden, he thought of a forge, of the great ovens in all smithies, be they the small white ones in Vale, the blue-stone mouths of Proxian smiths, or the hulking grey beasts in Loho. Forges required more care than what met the eye, even he knew that. To work they required a constant flow of fuel, be it coal or wood or something else that burned. At all times shovelled into their gaping mouths until the work was finished. Whenever rarely cool, old doors needed to be repaired or replaced all together, joints oiled to make sure they opened to allow for fuel, and closed to keep the sparks and heat in. Everything required maintenance, nothing would work without it.

He thought of a forge where the fuel had run out. No more shipments of boxed coal, no trees worth their wood around for chopping. The demand for supplies from the forge itself fades, it closes down. Years pass, so many at a time. The grout between stones begins to weaken, powdering away in the wind and rain. The joints of the windows and holes rust over and disintegrate from sheer age, the coal beds filled with fallen leaves blown in on autumn winds, cold rain as the chimneys settle and warp.

And then another thought hit him, of something happening, some sort of activity, some movement. Suddenly the fuel is there again, shovelled into the mouth of the oven left so many years untouched, no care taken before tossing in the sparks and lighting it. Work expected to continue at the same level it had been so long ago. What happens when someone tries that?

The doors break off, letting heat and ash spit out in a fiery mess. The leaves burn black smoke into the air, poisoning any metal blocks set in to heat and be worked on. The chimney bricks hiss with the sudden heat, crumbling and forming great cracks after the years of icy cold. The old flues all choked with black soot from ages ago congeal and melt, dripping down and catching flame. With that done it's a lost battle, everything warps, twists, and groans as it collapses in a blazing mess of old irons and cracked stone. There's no more forge, nothing left save hot, steaming rubble.

Imagine instead then, a machine of another sort. Where the fuel is a great river of golden energy, one cut off for the sake of protecting the world from itself and its wars. It's a system however built on containment, of carefully removing the most valuable aspects of the mind and sealing them away, still aware of self and soul, but cut off, isolated, given only itself too communicate with… What happens then if that river is cut off?

What if someone found the cold forge before it was relit, and used it for something different? Buried treasures and trinkets into the settled beds of ashes and ancient coals, secrets for no one else to see between the grates wide enough for everyone to have their own special little patch of it?

'_That elderly couple you visited, they have been in deep slumber for several long weeks now…' _

'_Naomi died in three days…' _

And then… the flames are lit again, and those trinkets… Why… a basket buried shallow under the ashes, a new secret, a new treasure, that would burn much faster than, say, a necklace from the days of a grand-father's youth.

Felix gave a sharp, startled cry as he stepped on something slick and wet, losing his footing and slamming down hard on his back. Groaning loudly, his limbs felt cumbersome and heavy in the thick cold, the ever-present mist clawing at his mind like a crown of thorns. He couldn't run any farther, his torch flickering dimly as the only source of light next to him.

This was coming out too much like his first visit… But, wasn't that why he was here? Wouldn't this be worth the anxiety if he now had the answers? Yes, yes it would be worth it, and again he was surprised at how easy that simple answer made everything seem. What things were worth the trouble he could do them… What a novel idea.

Where had he gone? Where had he been the last time he was here? It was all black, all wet. He didn't want to examine the walls to closely for some sort of marker; the last time he'd done that he'd been torn into a world of red tile, the same backdrop for all of his nightmares in Vale.

He'd slept so soundly here ever since his first visit to the cave, when his only light then had gone out, and numb with cold he'd scratched the black head against the wall… He hadn't even been thinking hard on what he drew, only one word, one name, coming to mind before he fell asleep in the darkness… He'd awoken later just several yards from the exit, able to hear everyone's voices within the Fortune Teller's tent…

He'd slept soundly until that night however… the one still passing overhead and around him, outside of the mountain.

Ugh… he couldn't run anymore, breathing hard and feeling his throat ache like sand paper. The dank surroundings didn't help his sudden thirst; he'd been at a full run since leaving the tent behind…

What was he looking for? It was difficult to say exactly, he didn't think he'd be able to answer directly if he'd waited to be asked back at the surface. It wasn't a blind search, but was he looking for some sign of the ancient prison? Not exactly. Perhaps then the source of whatever was channelling alchemy into the power for the spells around him? No. Then maybe… yes… that seemed like the answer.

Maybe he wanted… confirmation. Something to finally convince him that he was right, even if the motives he'd decided on didn't work, even if the past didn't have a bearing on the present. He still needed to make sure of what exactly was happening, why everything had worked out this way, just give himself a way of truly connecting what might be and what was together in one swift and sure blow.

But he couldn't do that if he didn't… ugh… it was too much effort to rise… The mists blowing over him like a thick cover of snow, as if he'd fallen back to stare up into the grey sky over Prox. Wide, barren fields of nothing but frost and black rock, ancient shale and sparse grub for untold distances, trees looming ominously against the backdrop of endless darkness. To have white snow mix with the unreal void of the rift to the North was somewhat surreal, perhaps poetic or paradox…

'_Stop that…'_ He thought wearily… _'Get… out of my head…'_ Giving himself a shake, Felix slowly picked himself up, not yet with the strength to stand, but his breaths had evened out from the harsh panting of his run. He could think more clearly now, though he knew not why. The mists curling about him as he looked towards the light of the torch… where had it gone? Hadn't he dropped it here next to him?

The only flame he could see was several yards ahead of him, all else was black. How had it gotten so far? It was still too difficult to rise and walk over like a man, but who was really here to judge him save himself? He crawled, shivering from the cold as his hand sunk into a deep puddle he hadn't been able to see or avoid. He kept his knees from blundering through it, but the water soaked through his sleeve and chilled the skin regardless. He hadn't thought to grab his gloves, just the scarf.

The flames were golden in the darkness, startlingly so. Too intense to stare into directly, it hurt his eyes to do so. Why did they burn so high? Hadn't they been on the verge of fading out when he'd finally collapsed? How now were they so willing to shed light for him, off the knobbed floor and dripping ceilings…? Not the walls though, he'd noticed that, light never seemed to strike the slick walls unless held right up to them. Was that another attribute of the magic running rampant after so many generations left silent and cold?

He reached for it, not foolishly at the fire itself, but around the base, finding nothing however but slick wet and slowly warming stone. Where was the handle? The wooden rod with its oil-cloth head? He'd thought his mind was clear again, but clearly that wasn't so. He couldn't think to reason out what was going on around him now, still fumbling blindly even as there was no long shadow to show him where the rod was; something that should've been plain to his eyes.

"..!?" He fell back again as the flames went red for a moment, flaring up like a camp fire given a breath of strong wind. The sudden light was painful to his eyes, the top portion of filmy red breaking away from the rest. It was swallowed quickly into the darkness, but not before he felt the after-image of spreading wings burn itself across his vision.

The light didn't vanish however, the wings did, but now he found himself staring up at the roof of the cavern, the fire itself didn't go out. He hadn't noticed before how the ceiling overhead was sectioned, cuts in the rock repeating equally, like the ribs of some great beast. He could almost fool himself in the shadows to think those bones were marked with some ancient detailing. No paintings, but lines too careful to have been crafted by water or formed by the simple mountain. No… no that was definite… the marks defined…

He didn't move any more than he had too, on his backside still as it was almost a measure of strain to drop his head down to his chest. Hadn't the flame been just in front of him? There was only one source of light, no conflicting shadows to say otherwise. But now, there it was, hovering just over the slick floor of the cave a good several feet away from him.

There was something haunting familiar in all of this now. Hadn't he been chasing a tiny flame in all of his dreams? That tiny bit of fire, hovering in the gaping black doorway…

His breath caught, the darkness becoming almost solid like a long tunnel around his vision. It closed in on him so solidly, but he only stared through the flame to the wall behind. A solitary patch of stone hovered in the darkness just beyond the wavering light, bear of any marking from ancient hands and their fears. A pair of eyes were looking back at him; sweeping lengths of cropped, crimson hair framing a heart-shaped face. Features not perfected- a nose almost delicate, but after breaking was bumped and almost crooked, brows not groomed into thin, penciled lines, lips chapped by the same fierce cold he always felt in his dreams…

She moved, he blinked, and it was only stone.

Felix's heart was thundering in his chest as he bolted upright on the stone, shrouded in darkness again. He was suddenly aware of fear stabbing into his chest like a painful bolt; his breaths coming short as a far off, crimson glow reflected off of the slick walls around him.

There it was, around a bend just a ways further along the cave. The reflection of fire, he could see it hovering there, a tiny, iridescent flame drifting lazily through the air. His limbs had gone numb, eyes wide in the darkness as he fumbled to his numb legs and broke into a clumsy run after it.

Where was his sense of self? His control? His alertness of the world around him, ability to recognize his world and what it really was? He'd hardly reached the bend in the cavern before he lost his footing all over again, slamming forward with a pained, husky cry. The flame wasn't there, hovering over him in the same place it'd been, it was farther ahead still, it'd moved. Where was his control? It'd been flung away on a careless wind; so damn whatever reason there was behind there being no wind at all in the bowels of the mountain!

He didn't fall again, didn't trip. He kept running, finding strength in the days of easy rest he'd had in the outside world, finding energy. There'd been a time when he could've run tirelessly for hours on end, sword drawn and creatures of twisted enchantment falling in his wake. He wasn't quite at that level anymore, but it was still better than what Vale had been slowly wasting him away too. He wasn't unbreakable, as tireless as stone, but he was still just as brash as back then.

'_Once you get a thought in that thick head of yours, you don't drop it, do you?' _Jenna's voice was so quiet under his own sharp breaths, a world or more away in another time and place entirely. He remembered the lecture, or the line, but not what had prompted it. Everything was out of context now.

His mind was drifting, but the body remained aware, alert and unable to be swayed. It was too familiar, all of it too much as it had been time and again in dream and once before in reality- in life. The flame no longer vanished from sight and reappeared elsewhere, farther in the darkness, it only hovered there, just out of reach, just ahead, always ahead. He could feel the heat trailed along behind it, but smelt no smoke to show it burned anything in truth. Flames of this sort didn't require fuel to burn, not like those of golden lanterns and ancient sanctums.

Could he have fancied the cold, slick walls to be ribboned, crimson stone? Imagined his boots striking ancient tile crusted over with blasphemous ice instead of just the broken and blotched floor of the cave? Clearly the answer was yes, because his mind did put those illusions into place, memories and eyes playing tricks on him as the scattered paintings were growing less and less frequent on the walls, the sense of the earth bearing down on him heavily from above.

How far was he now from the surface and the light? How long had he been down here? Thoughts about what lay beyond the stone and the cold were so difficult to bring up, his lungs burning from the damp and the exertion of his running. He could only will his mind to two places, either here in this cold, water-slick series of catacombs, or across the ocean, along the barren tundra an onward to the edge of the solid world. In the sanctum of fire: where all was crimson and light; yet blighted for years by ice and wind wreaking havoc. He couldn't find the middle ground, that place he'd tried to call home since then; the name of it wouldn't come to him…

Was he tireless? No… He knew that. He felt himself slowing again, spending himself as he had before. The flame slowed too, and that bothered him. Suddenly he felt the fool, like a puppet or a horse. He was being led along by a carrot dangling from a rope in front of his nose, always just out of reach. He wanted to stop just to spite it, turn around, end this dream, return to reason and logic and control… … …

But he didn't.

He kept running, kept following. Around twists and turns, across large pools of icy water he was forced to either jump across when he saw them, or wallow up too his knees in frigid slime and lightless growth. Even when the way began to narrow, the temperature dropping swiftly, he still followed. He wore his scarf and one of his outer tunics, but his gloves had been forgotten, and everything from the knee down was slowly freezing from those unexpected dips. But he kept running, kept following.

The narrowing caverns had a step to them before opening into a section much wider and higher than those before it. He nearly tripped over the threshold, his mind picking up the sudden jump in the stone before his eyes could've hoped to save him. His eyes lost the flame as he looked down with his stumble, having to slow himself down to a weak, clumsy stop. His legs burned, chest ached; everything felt numb and chilled with the dank cold.

Bending over, he slowly brought himself down, needing rest, but with control enough to keep from tossing himself back onto the stones. First to his knees, then easing himself down with his back against the slick wall. He was so tired, closing his eyes and tilting his head back until it was resting against the cold stone. He ended up opening them shortly after though, the only source of heat drifting lazily over towards him.

Everything had been like a dream since he'd entered the cave again, nothing quite real. Even his own numb exhaustion just added to the surreal effect of the cave and its magic. He had no doubts about the Alchemy within it, watching as the behaviour of that tiny flame changed again. It came closer to him, drifting silently, unwavering as its path wasn't exactly predetermined, but was smooth and graceful anyways. Drawing his knees up a bit, there wasn't a single breath of air to buffet or challenge the flame's path, hardly counting his own breath.

He was so tired as he looked along the copper shadows splashed against the rocky walls. His eyes hardly taking in the lines and splotches, able to see only the bare stone, no marks of ancient artisans. If they'd once drawn here, the marks had long since worn away by the constant, miniscule flow of water.

He saw the hand though, curled next to him as if taking the weight of a lean. A hand attached to an arm, attached to a shoulder and a torso. It was like viewing someone sitting against the same tree as him, half-seeing the outline and feeling the presence, but nothing was really clear. Here he was with his back to the wall, no bends or turns visible within the small orb of orange light from the flame. But he wasn't alone. For a moment, he wondered when that had changed; when he'd first stepped into the cavern perhaps? Or maybe just when he'd lost his torch… Was it before then?

He was tired; he'd slept well the last fortnight, but it didn't help him much now. He'd risen at a time when no man or beast was making its rounds. He'd disturbed others, come charging down here without direction or sense of place. He was exhausted, all of the creeds he'd been trying to uphold for so long just too far beyond him now. His reason, his logic, his control. He couldn't find it in himself to submit to those empty words.

He reached for that hand next to him, cold stone meeting his palm, because that was what it was; not even shaped to reflect the real thing. The arm shimmered; it wavered and then faded into the shadows of the rock and the cave. The flame dimmed, burnt low on its invisible fuel of alchemy and will, before rising again and giving him light to see by.

"You're here…" He said softly, his voice husky after all the running and charging around blindly. Lifting his hand, there was a shake to him as he lifted and touched his fingers to the wall. They rested across the only dark lines he knew were not caused by shadows or trails of water. No illusions or tricks of sight and mind. It was the only mark, the only inscription, the single sign he'd been searching for all this time.

It had been scratched into the rock with a shard of stone now missing in the inky black. The lines had then been darkened by the shattered head of a torch, broken after a fall and splintered uselessly in the puddles collecting silently around him. Only the light of that guiding flame allowed him to see it, the ruddy, crude sketch of curved black lines painted across the rock.

It looked nothing like the real thing, this image. The handle was too short, too thick and stocky. The way it connected at the head was nothing like the old, gnarled hands of ebony the original had been graced with. The blade was too thick, too long compared to the handle he'd already critiqued in his mind.

Still, despite its improper scale, not even half the size of his hand, easily fitting into his palm, it was recognizable, at least to him it was. Some might have called it a sickle, or taken it at face value and declared it one of those bent throwing blades from the farthest corners of the eastern world, but he knew what it was. A scythe like no other; with no equal or copy, only a sister blade which had spiralled into the depths of Venus Lighthouse years ago. Ebony handle, once detailed beautifully, but which had worn off from so much heavy, hard-handed use at the hands of its skilled mistress. A silver, crescent moon blade, rivalled only by the doomed sister for its strength and sharpness in that form…

"I don't know why I…" Why had he drawn it? What had possessed him to do something so strange? He hadn't been so tired then, disoriented perhaps, off balanced of course, but why had he done it? Blind in the dark, using only his mind's eye and the memory of his hands to scratch and darken the symbol resting under his fingertips. He couldn't hold his hand there any longer, level with his eye, letting them slide away.

The motion should've smudged the drawing, would that've broken the spell on it? No, because there was no smear or change made to it, if anything, he thought for a moment he saw a shimmer of golden sparks, felt a gentle flare along his senses. Every line was as it had been; every rasping stroke still in place as he'd left them.

"I'm sorry…" And he was. He felt so tired; it wasn't just towards the flame he'd been running, but probably away from it for far longer. He'd turned onto his side without paying much attention. His arm was already cramping up against him, his legs so cold there was hardly any feeling left in them from the knees down…

'_I had… forgotten…' _But he remembered, oh Venus but how he remembered all of it. He knew even of the parts he claimed to have forgotten, told himself he hadn't been aware of, or hadn't paid attention too to begin with.

"Your hands… were warm once too…" He felt himself slipping, sliding away as the darkness was inching closer, the flame burning lower and lower as it wavered silently in the air. The sweeping cold of the mists and the cave were slowly creeping up on him. Had he noticed before how they'd kept away from him throughout his pursuit of the flame? Neither of them could keep it up now though, his head nodding down, eyes feeling so heavy, limbs like lead and without feeling. The fire inside of him had died long ago, just like the flame before him weakened now, succumbing to the ice and the cold. The last whisper of its life was echoed in the breath past his lips… But the darkness swallowed it before either cry could be heard…

"_Karst…"_

* * *

**Roundabout, Roundabout- I warned you this time!**

**As you can see, it's only in the 9****th**** chapter (10****th**** if you count the prologue and follow 's counting) where her name is actually said, and I omitted the _'she'_ and _'her'_ references from earlier in the story when Felix recalled the battle's aftermath. This story was SUPPOSED to be a prominent romance, but obviously that fell through and was replaced with a _'mystery'_ sub-genre instead.**

**Just pointing it out.**

**31/10/08**


	11. Red and Gold

**Special thanks to Dantaron for Beta-ing the original version of this chapter- and its first revision- in the Temple!**

* * *

**Chapter Ten **

Red and Gold 

He'd always begun in the same place every time: Mars Lighthouse. Running blindly down the twisting passages of the sanctum, always haunted by the silent dragons and patches of blue ice. Every time would he come down the final corridor, barrelling along towards the flame only to have something happen, and it would all spiral into darkness, opening only again to show him the living world.

It wasn't like that this time. The tundra expanded out behind him like a great white cloth, taking the light from the sky and casting it harshly on all angles; the sort of glare one became used to in the North. The remains of a shambled mountain chain began in the distance, marching north until there was no more land to conquer. The endlessness of the black void- the rift beyond Weyard- was a startling foil to the bleak landscape.

The lighthouse was an arm of red striking out against the white tundra and endless dark behind. His steps carrying him slowly towards it, pausing to note every rift and tear in the black ground underfoot. He'd never noticed it before: but once there had been a paved road leading towards the sanctum. He could see the remnants of it as he passed.

He'd hardly stepped over the threshold of the Lighthouse before he was at the final stage of the endless run. He had not sped past a single detail along the way, but had no recollection of the long walk, or of being sent in circles around himself. His eye took notice of the spiralled detailing along the land-bridge as he passed the cold beds of stone.

No glittering magma was present to light his way, though the heat from it was reassuring to feel. It was strong; alive. The fire hadn't swarmed to recover its sanctum since his last dream, but the earth was finally awakening.

The blue snow still spiralled endlessly from above. The massive burg of ice shattered only in part. He should've charged up to the unbroken half and done something, perhaps pounded and screamed and kicked like before, but he didn't. He touched the pillars and the walls, brushing away bits of frost, letting his fingertips roam over the melded ceramic and stone. The red scales were each as smooth and lay as perfectly they looked…

He felt such a sense of calm, it was impossible to belittle or shake off, and why would he have wanted too anyway? He made his slow, methodical way towards the ice, the central focus of the room. He took care this time not to stumble through the frosted slurry across the tile, heart heavy and eyes carefully watching the bladed weapon resting against the blue casing. The scythe was still there… like the basket described in another dream, by another man with a different weight around his heart. Well, maybe it wasn't so different…

His touch on the ice wasn't harsh or abrasive; though without any gloves it was almost painful to feel the cold against his skin. Palm open, he took a deep breath, looking around once into the silent, lazy snowfall, and then brought his eyes back down to rest on the scythe.

He didn't even know what he was going to try. He was in even less control this time around then ever before… and yet…

* * *

The crash of shattering stone woke him with a violent start. Felix's eyes opened to pitch, but a quick-silver flash of green through his mind's eye sent him tumbling to his side, sloshing through a nearby puddle of wet before he swung his arms out to steady himself.

A small flame burst to life in front of him, but was too slow to catch the movement of the earth. The entire cavern was rumbling distantly, the mountain settling overhead and underfoot as Felix let his heart calm in his ears. His mind felt strikingly clear after his dream, and with this, his body was up to speed and just as alert.

A thick spire of blue-veined stone had erupted from the smooth cave floor near where he'd fallen asleep. Nearly as thick around as his shoulders at the base, it might've crushed him if he hadn't had the sense to move when he did. Had he cast it in his sleep? Summoned his psynergy in the real world as he had in the realm of dreams? Impossible! He'd have killed himself and many others before now if he'd ever been so careless with his powers! He was no child to go rumbling stones…

Standing, he came over and rested one hand on the rock, half expecting to feel the cold film of water over its red and blue surface, but was rewarded instead with the sensation of warm, living stone. His frustration with the pillar's appearance dwindled. It was almost a relief to know the mountain was still alive around him; it felt so overcome with elements from the opposing side of the wheel that it didn't have a hold on itself anymore.

Easing frustration didn't take the edge off of anxiety though, and for good reason. He had been bathed with the rest of his company atop Mars Lighthouse two years ago with the light of Alchemy. He knew it'd left a definite impression on all of them, but the main difference he'd always noticed about his own abilities was the… shine… they seemed to always leave behind. A shimmer of bronze sparks was dancing just underhand now, a residue only he and Isaac ever left behind anymore. So, since Isaac wasn't here, that meant…

'_I'm losing my mind…?'_ He thought distantly, sighing heavily and drawing one hand up to comb back through his hair. He was still all wet and damp, a clammy feeling invading his clothes even as he tried to shake it off. Setting logic and its unnerving conclusions aside for the moment, he didn't want to see reason after how he'd gotten along thus far…

Movement, a glimmer of shadow from the corner of his eye, made him jump. He brought his eyes up and around, looking past the stone to see the guiding flame from earlier hovering shyly next to the wall. Had the dream shattered? He wasn't awestruck and accepting of it there, feeling a sudden stab of awareness as he moved out from behind the pillar.

"Who's there?" He called, not expecting an answer, but letting his voice out anyways. "Show yourself. Why've you led me here?" Again, he almost added; why had he been led here again? But he knew without asking that something entirely different had brought him here to this section of catacombs last time, a different force, with different tactics and reasons. That is… if there was any reason to this place at all anymore.

A remnant of Alchemy, a container for the souls and spirits of criminals and wrong-doers. Outcasts in a society which had crumbled to dust hundreds of years earlier. But was its medium really so simple as just… paintings…? Carvings? Small sketches so far from the real thing that they… weren't even the same at all?

The flame dropped down, slowly weaving a curved path towards him, but continued to descend lower and lower, until it was almost at his knees. He watched the smokeless flame as it hovered just under the girth of the spire he'd summoned unintentionally, and ducked down a little to watch it move.

He sucked in a sharp breath as the light washed over the rough scar he'd left against the rock face with charcoal and stone on his first visit. The lines of the malformed scythe hardly lined up so much as crossed randomly over one another. As the flames made contact with the wall, he had the sudden wish for it to burn the image away and leave nothing but a black smear.

Instead… he took a shy step back, wary as a shower of crimson sparks, the fiercest component of raw Alchemy, spluttered and rained down from the wall, the charcoal lines spilling forth the energy. Fingers of flame protruded out from the stone for a moment, a vibrant blood red of pure fire before they vanished.

The fire went away, coughed and snuffed itself out suddenly, but the light didn't. Felix had to blink away the afterimage of the red shower from his eyes, still able to see it as a shine of blue even after it went out. He could feel the heat from where he was standing, though it had reached him only sparingly.

But he could still see. There was no natural light down here for Venus knew how far through stone. But instead of being sent spiralling into pitch black to navigate by touch and sense alone, his eyes still drew in light… Not strongly… not with definite strength or substance, but light none-the-less. And it had nothing to do with the Power of Venus, maybe only as a medium, a method of transmission…

The wall was… glowing… Very faintly, had there been any other bit of light present he wouldn't have been able to tell at all. It whittled out with a dull golden shine, casting its glow against the pebbled body of the spire striking the ceiling overhead, and washing shyly across his boots as Felix took a step forwards. He stooped down low, trying to get a better look at what was there, and was kept silent by what he saw.

Beyond the cursed mark in the wall- black and stark like an angry brand- was… the shimmer of flame. His mind immediately jumped to a sheen of blue ice, the sound of kicking and the light of red flame flaring from beyond, but he forced it away. This was different, it had to be. This wasn't ice in the belly of Mars Lighthouse; this was stone in the bowels of a mountain.

And yet… it was still the same. He thought for a moment of the stone being cut so thinly so as to allow the light of fire to glow through it, but that couldn't be. He had one hand out touching the wall, and he could feel how solid it was. Only a lingering warmth from the flame's contact remained, so faint, and fading…

"Alchemy…?" It had to be, what else would explain this? A logic so long lost it didn't even make sense anymore. He was standing again, the dark so thick he wouldn't've been surprised if he smacked his own head against the pillar he'd had to scramble around.

This was a prison; he was standing in the heart of it. But a prison for what? The soul? A part of him said yes, believed it instantly, but that was ludicrous. Charcoal and paint couldn't draw the spirit from its body, and even if they could, simple stone could never hold it. No one element had that power; not wind, not stone, not fire. The basic principles of Alchemy itself were mixture and co-operation- this didn't make any sense!

…Where was the water coming from? He was mumbling to himself, but couldn't help it, looking around in the inky darkness as if to see a spout or a line where the constant wet might've been seeping from this whole time. There was a lot of water in the village; canals dug by human hands and the will of nature. There was a river cut straight across the Shaman bowl, sweeping through the villages and serving as a set of challenges along Trial Road. There was plenty of water to be had, there had to be some explanation -completely natural- for there to be so much of it here, so far from both the village and the ancient trail…

He was looking up and around along the many shadowed faces of the rock, turning in a slow circle before he came back to facing the same wall from before. He'd noticed the light improving, if only somewhat, but was forced to stop directly when his eyes found something more important than the sheen of wet to focus on. And yet he didn't even trust them.

The glow had spread, coiled up and along, billowed up like a golden cloud beyond his reach within the stone. A shadowed form stood in the centre of it, stark against the light background. If he hadn't been able to see the shine of light along the wet stones underfoot, he would've thought it some sort of hallucination, a dream, anything but real.

He couldn't see her face; the silhouette against the wall had the light coming from behind it, not around or in front so he might've seen her clearly. It was the lines that told him it was woman, there were just some things you couldn't bicker about or question. But he couldn't see the face, no matter what he wanted to think, he was frozen by that one lacking detail….

He had moved away from the wall when he'd fallen into thought, and had to place one hand on the wide pillar to steady himself as he felt the gathering heat of a work of psynergy. His pupils shrunk down and he felt a flash of pain as red and gold flared just in front of him, fire hissing back to life a few shy inches in front of the rock wall.

He opened his eyes up quickly after the main flare faded. The different was shocking to him; the flame was hovering in the air just as before, only instead of just shedding more light and detail for him to see the cave, it had the same effect just beyond as well.

When he'd last seen it, her face had been white from battle, the only colour being the red of her blood drying from the gash over her forehead, and the rough blow to the temple. Even her hair had been washed of life, no amber glow as it had faded to a matted, filmy rose. Even while speaking, her eyes had been glassy, frosted over with a glaze of death. No one had had the strength or will to journey back down to the depths of Mars Lighthouse to find her or her partner after the Beacon had been fired; her last moments in life had been too harsh to search out her shell in death.

There was nothing he regretted more than not going back. It had been a nagging guilt in the back of his head from the first moment Prox had reappeared on the horizon over the tundra. There had been nothing for it though; his parents had been so weak they could hardly stand, saved from death by the beacon's light. The rest of them as well- Ivan had needed to be carried the whole way, Piers would limp for the rest of his life, and Jenna's arm had bled so badly from the Lighthouse to Prox Mia had fainted from the strain of slowing what damage she could.

But the excuse was hollow to him, flawed and empty. No one had gone back, no one. No Proxian soldiers, not a single scout, he'd asked and been told so by Chief Pluelle himself. No one had gone to search for the last of Prox's great heroes; Menardi's sister and Saturos's cousin.

That slight nag in his thoughts had grown into something biting and sharp. The edge of guilt had carved down through him over time, formed a great welt to bleed joy out of everything he thought to touch… It was a morbid way to look at things, a martyr's misery, but even when he convinced himself not to bother with it any longer, something always happened, something to remind him. A comment, a question, a memory- dreams that haunted him when he ought to have been free…

She looked too real now to be a painting, to be a dream, real but still strikingly not so. He could see the blue veins of the stone running across her form, patches of strong red like the village clay packed tightly without air. All the contours were as rough and flawed as any other section of cave wall. And yet she was still there, shadows, shades, the glimmer of light washing across her face, drawing her hands and body from the darkness.

He didn't think before reaching out to her, his palm up against where he could see hers facing him. The touch of cold, wet stone was a shock to his senses; some part of him had expected warm flesh...

"Karst..?" He whispered softly, wary of the small flame as there was suddenly very little space for it to hover between him and the wall, and he had even less space to move because of it. The spire behind him was pressed against his left shoulder; he was half-bent trying to stay in close to where he could see her. There was no movement beyond the wall, but when the flames lifted just enough so he had to look through the wavering heat, he could almost make himself believe he saw her eyes moving to focus on his… Right there, did her lips move?

Dreaming? Was that what she said?

"I can't hear you…" I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming. She was repeating it over and over again, he could see her lips moving quickly, forming the words as one would a prayer to be shared only between two. He could only shake his head.

"No, not anymore, this isn't a dream." Please, Venus, let it not be a dream. He'd feared sleep for so long. He'd never gone back, never paid any respect to the only person who had ever treated him personally in three frigid years. They'd never had a kind word for one another. He remembered all the arguments, the fights, the sneers and jibes. But damn it he had stilled owed her a burial! She'd deserved to go home! The only person in three long, raging years who had ever let him shout and kick and fight. Someone to lash out at, someone to give him respite, someone who he could judge back and not have to fear the consequences; hadn't he owed her something for all that?

He didn't know what he'd do if this became the trend of his dreams from now on; this was just too much…

"Stop saying that…" It's not a dream! Why couldn't she hear him? "It's my fault- I'll fix it!" He had to; no one else here knew enough of the North to ever mark the walls and draw her here. She deserved her rest; he'd done enough without tearing her from her final sleep!

Fear could always make people do stupid things, do something so strongly against their nature. She was moving so slowly, but with his heart suddenly thundering it was all at normal speed. Karst dropped her head, and he could see her hands balling into fists against the wall, the barrier. Was she shaking, or was it just the waver of heat?

There was a burst of warmth from within him before he really understood what he meant to do; the light of the flame became sharp in his eyes again. Had there been enough for him to see real colour, every shade would've altered and contrasted against every other. He could see an aura of gold light form around him briefly, shimmer off of stones, but before he could hope to draw anything from the earth, his mind's eye threw something else at him instead.

To see the light of Psynergy was not the same as seeing the light of a flame or the sun outside. A light without shadows, forming details without revealing shapes. The techniques for sealing Psynergy into items and places had been lost with time, to be rediscovered again in the future, but he'd seen it enough times in his travels to recognize the runes of ancient lore.

Wind and Water stand opposite to Earth and Fire. But although Wind and Earth will never partner, nor will Water and Fire, they could always cross. Jupiter and Mars could create terrifying vortexes of flame and destruction, and Mercury paired with Venus…

He was stunned by the images which flooded his mind, reacting to his attempts to tap his own element. He stumbled back from the wall, his back ramming fully against the pillar as he slid around to lean on it numbly for support. Everywhere he turned or looked, brilliant, flaring china blue lights met him; he could feel them like a thousand shimmering stones flashing into his mind. He was no sage, knew not how to draw or copy any of the markings flashing and glittering around him, pooling into low dips in the stone, endlessly slipping down over the cracks and crevasses in the walls, dripping like tiny diamonds from the ceiling…

But even without extensive, embedded learning and tedious study, even he could see how skewed many of them were. Broken runes; formless beads of energy glimmering from every corner. The mesh had been broken; the seamless integration of two elements had deteriorated into two thick, cumbersome layers…

But his hand rested now on warm stone, the only surface not shimmering with dancing runes. The swath of water was not complete anymore. How had he reached into the earth to draw it forth though? The pillar was dry, and he felt himself relaxing immediately against the strong, living stone. It wasn't until he touched it like this that he realized how cut off he had been from his own element since entering the catacombs.

"It's not a dream, Karst…" He said hoarsely, wondering when he'd lost his breath, but slowly gaining it back now that had had the chance. "But I'm going… to send you back to yours…"

He could still look over and see her in the wall, the flame hovering, his only light in the darkness as the runes faded from his mind, back into the folds of stone and water where they'd been hiding all this time. He had his opening; he didn't need to see them anymore.

Again, warmth came to him, rushed along his arms, banished any chills, and any invading tendrils of cold. And this time he found the earth, found the mountain and his element there waiting for him. He'd never felt the world reach out to him before, but could've sworn he felt the mountain rise up to meet him- an entity all its own.

He was ready for the sound of splitting stone this time, the great cry from the mountain. Crimson eyes lifted only for a split second beyond the veil of rock and fire to see him, the shimmer of water reflecting over her expression so he couldn't quite see it. It was like driving an axe through a hard knot of wood, but when a flare of gold light split down through the image of the scythe, the flames spluttered out, and she vanished like ink in water.

The silence was deafening, he didn't know what he'd done, had no way off explaining or understanding. He nearly jumped out of his own skin when the words came to him, shimmering almost like a feeling rather than a sound, creeping up his arm where his hand was pressed into the ridges of the stone…

'_Your warmth…' _

Before he could think, there was light again. Low flames slowly formed over the stretch of wall that had sunken back into the darkness, illuminating the cracks he'd put there. He recognized the image before it even formed; the broad crown and arched wings. The dragon pulled itself free of the stone wall, and he couldn't move to spare himself from the sudden heat it brought.

Steam billowed into the air as great wings as large as the space would allow spread and formed from the wall. There was no trumpeting call to the mountain or the darkness, the spirit tearing itself free like a hatchling from the egg. And it all might have been completely silent but for the growing roar of the fire, and the crackle and snaps of the cold, wet stones bursting at his feet. He couldn't bring himself to move once as the heat and light surged like a mighty wave, illuminating every nook and dip before a heavy beat carried her off and away. Coiling down passages, the light vanishing through the darkness in search of any opening to the day…

And when she was gone… he was left in the darkness. The cold was creeping back over him before he remembered himself even in part. He was so numb, not tired though he ought to've been, the needs of his body were so far beyond him. He'd remembered something important about who he was, this whole time he'd been at the mercy of the mountain, and that just wasn't right.

The Wise One, the Stone of Sages, had said that Isaac had been gifted with the greatest portion of the Golden Sun's power, a mighty proclamation over the shambled remains of Vale. But Isaac had not been named by Weyard as the Master of the Earth, aided in taming the Serpent of Gaia rock and unlocking the mountain's secrets. That honour had fallen to Felix alone, and had not been bestowed upon Isaac even when the other man had visited the same tablet and pedestal as he had.

He had not thought of meaningless titles in a long time. He had never really explored the extent of his powers ever since the bath of Golden light atop Mars Lighthouse. Something inside reasoned that he was choosing a foul time to start exploring, but it was too quiet for him to really hear.

As Felix, he had accomplished what he had set out to do. He understood what this place was now, and had released the one he'd wronged too harshly to bear reminding himself. He was done here, and should have been devoting himself to finding the way out…

And yet… when he felt the mountain around him, really felt it now, a low, silent pining in his mind… And when he was reminded of his title as Master of Earth… A proven Hero of Venus… There was responsibility to titles like that, even if the names themselves were ignored and scoffed most of the time in jest… It was his element…

"Naomi died in three days…" There was no one to speak to, and yet at the same time he could feel the presence of so many trapped within stone under the veil of water. "I think… she has suffered long enough…" A moment, a breath, an awakening…

_Sand… _

He fell into himself. Into the earth. Into the stone and the mountain. His eyes did not see for him, hands did not reach. Taste, smell, sound, all of the senses were useless to him, and yet heightened on a level no one could ever understand the same as he did. The hiss of sand reached his ears before sound became irrelevant, gold light flared in his eyes before his sight was lifted to a greater sense.

There were so many catacombs… so many miles upon miles of hallways and corridors. Caved in, sealed over, forgotten, abandoned passages. He melded into the stone, made it himself; wielding the power of alchemy as well as he knew how. It was a power which might have burned him if he had hands to hold it, and which shattered rock and granite as he forced it to bend under his will.

The sound of splitting passages, shattering paintings, crumbling spells and images, he wouldn't doubt it could be heard throughout the entire valley. Like the tight knots found in every log of wood to be split, he sliced and hacked through every portion.

There was pain to it, like breaking bone or snapping joints; wounding an arm to reset a mis-healed limb. Any blood was spelled water losing the last of its crumbling runes. Tears were the bursts of light and energy from every shattered prison and escaping spirit. Screams and cries of pain were the groans of stone slamming and sliding, caves collapsing over one another and jarring the entire mountain on its very foundations.

He almost lost the line between man and mountain. For a moment, there was no Felix, no Adept or Hero. No human flesh or need to hear or see or taste. He was almost gone, but when he brought himself back, forced sand and stone into sinew and flesh, stumbled out into sunshine and collapsed in the open air…

There was no one there yet to greet him, and he wouldn't have had it any other way.

* * *

**1/11/08**

**Technically the date's only different from last chapter due to my hitting midnight… And I'm gonna kill my brother for shooting my train of thought at LEAST four times trying to read this thing and get the edit done.**


	12. Epilogue: Deus Ex Machina?

**There's a statement in this chapter regarding dragons and a **_**'white lie'**_** told by the original party, and I'm not making up the accusation used against Felix here. Camelot included Mindreads into Prox after the Doom Dragon battle (despite having only Isaac and Felix), but they can only be accessed by use of an Emulator (I think that's how anyways). Anyone interested can feel free to PM or e-mail me and I'll gladly send you the link to those screenshots. Most are kinda cute, actually.**

**Thank you very much for sticking through to the end. I hope you enjoy reading this epilogue as much as I did planning it.**

**-Sunny **

* * *

**Epilogue**

Deus Ex Machina?

It was Ivan who finally found him, an hour, maybe two after he finally emerged from the cave and collapsed. He'd given them all a scare it seemed, had been gone for several hours, it was full daylight and nearly noon by the time he was even found. Ivan was visibly white as he and two Shamans helped half-carry-half-drag Felix back to the village. He was to learn shortly after that Ivan, Hamma, Sheba, and any other competent or semi-aware adepts had seen and heard more than a few strange sights, ghosts one could say, escaping from the sealed entrances to the mountain.

And they were, all, sealed.

He stayed for two more weeks in the Shaman Village. No one knew quite what to think of him, least of all himself. His time was taken up by debates and meetings still, though of a different nature than before. Half were just determining whether or not he was going to be treated as a criminal for what he'd done to their precious sanctum. He said even less over those weeks than he had in the rest of the time he'd stayed with them.

The villagers were outraged with him, and he didn't blame them for it- even the old Fortune Teller. Omata behaved himself extremely well, so the duty of persecuting Felix fell almost completely to his daughter- Ikata. It seemed even women could become Fortune Tellers amongst the Shaman, it was better than forcing things onto the small boy in the family instead.

His desecration had awoken many, but not all, of the afflicted villagers. Of the un-afflicted, everyone had been able to see and hear the rumbling of the mountain, and there was a good deal of shattered stone and uprooted riverbed to account for. By the time he had emerged and the last stones settled the death count had reached eight; thirty by dusk. He wasn't in any condition to go about asking grieving families when or what they'd drawn in the cave to correspond to the dead ones, and it only would've enflamed the situation even more if he'd still tried. He didn't get any sympathy from the others either.

"How could you have acted so carelessly?" Hamma was the worst. "All of those people; and all at once!"

He mentioned to her that it would've taken a combination of a strong hold on Weyard, a weak grasp from the cave, and a relatively short time in coma for them to be able to spiritually and physically recover. All of which were the same between those who had survived. She herself had noted that most of the survivors had held notable traces of Psynergy in them.

"They were _my_ responsibility, Felix. _All _of them."

No, they'd been Omata and Moapa's responsibility. If the Fortune Teller hadn't kept information under a vow of silence –excluding even Moapa - then things might've ended differently.

"Do you enjoy infamy?" And what did she mean by that? "First Vale, and now here in Hesperia, is nothing sacred to you? Even if you didn't believe in it as they did, Felix, why -_oh why?-_ did you have to go and do something reckless like that?!"

Unfortunately, to that question he had no answer. It would've been too difficult and awkward to explain; and there was no guarantee Hamma would either listen or care to hear it anyways. Keeping his silence, he finished arranging his belongings in his pack. He was getting ready to leave when she said the one thing he'd been expecting the whole time.

"Isaac would have handled it differently."

"Perhaps." He answered sternly. "But he would have had to've felt obligated to come first." She didn't like that answer, but took a moment to respond as he belted the Sol Blade to his hip.

"What do you mean? You make it sound like he didn't care." He only looked to her, watching some slow realization come to her eyes.

"You came alone because…?" Ah, there, something connected.

"Isaac and I quarrelled and I left on foot. The argument itself is immaterial." He was decidedly blunt as he spoke, he had his pride. Bundling up the last of his things, he slung the travel pack up onto his back and faced her properly.

"Immaterial?" She seemed surprised, "How is it anything _but_ that? We were clearly asking for help… Did something happen to my letters? No? Then… Felix, tell me the truth of the matter; I need to know."

"That too is immaterial, Hamma. People are drawn to heroes, and when they choose theirs, that's it. That's the only truth which means anything, and it's useless to fight it anymore than I have already." He moved past her, though she was blocking the way out for the most part.

The summer had ended by every calendar now, the misty pre-dawn light of autumn flickering in through the windows of Moapa's home. Hamma quickly had one hand on his sleeve, and he looked at her for an explanation for delaying him. He wasn't angry, or even annoyed. He just wanted to know what she wanted.

She couldn't seem to put the words together though, her other hand gripping that woven shawl tightly in front of her. His apathy was gone from him; he felt sympathy for her instead. She wouldn't look at him properly until he nudged her chin up slightly with one hand.

"Hundreds died because of what I did in Vale, causing tidal waves and eruptions around the world." He said, silently detesting the martyr-air to his words, but bluntness had its limitations. "And if this place is any sign; thousands more will go that way now that Alchemy has been released. That cave isn't going to be the only relic of the Lost Age…" It was a reality he'd come to grips with long ago, seeing the aftermath of the destruction in Indra, small fishing villages in ruins, and the dead set out in baskets for the ocean to claim. "It's easier to blame than to understand, Hamma. Vale is willing to cast theirs on the Mars Clan, let the Shamans do the same to Venus and spare Yegelos the grief…"

His goodbyes to everyone else were less difficult. Sheba broke her irate silence with him and even gave him a hug and well wishes for his journey back to the East. If Ivan and Hamma had words before the goodbyes, there was little sign of it; the younger man hesitating only briefly before clasping hands with him. No one mentioned Isaac outright, but he was given letters for the others in Vale. Everything was done in quiet private, even his thanks to Moapa's household for providing for him during his stay.

He left with the dawn, the only time he could get away without causing too much ruckus for showing his face in the village. He wasn't challenged once across the great bowl, but could feel the eyes of the nation watching him closely even after he vanished into the caves leading out into the Hesperian wilderness.

He struck East through the forests and over marshes, and at a small, coastal village made use of a seal and token given to him by Moapa. It allowed him to barter for passage across the ocean in one of the last seasonal longboats set to leave Hesperia for Angara. They weren't Shamans, but were very close culturally and politically; Moapa had told him how to find their settlement before setting out from the Shaman bowl.

The stormy winter months had settled over the continent by the time the longboat fleet finally reached the shores; Loho's stony walls invisible in the sheeting rain and snow. Felix'd never felt more sick in his life as he had for that crossing, and swore never to repeat the process or wonder how they hadn't all drowned in the high waves. The first snows had already iced the top of every mountain, and swallowed up every mine shaft.

Only fools tried to cross Angara's Western Mountains in winter. Dead fools. In Loho he stayed…

* * *

When the first signs of the thaw began to appear, he wasn't as happy as he should've been. In fact he wasn't happy at all… He sent a messenger to Vale instead of going himself, bearing the letters from Hamma, Ivan, and Sheba, as well as one explaining his extended absence. His mother would be happy to know he hadn't been forced to winter over in Hesperia, but on the main continent instead. A barrier of mountains suited the family better than one of ocean. The reasons ought to've been obvious.

He said he felt he ought to stay a few more weeks in Loho and help the people who had helped him over the winter. He told them the good weather brought more orders and jobs than the little forge could handle short-handed. Enclosed was part of what he'd earned that season, something to help the family with their portion of the reconstruction.

Never they mind that once the mineshafts opened up, Loho's standing population dropped and business in Owen's forge dribbled down to a standstill. It was a month-long trek; he'd rather wait for the rest of the snow to melt first…

"Hmmph... This's interestin'… Eh… Ey! Felix! Lad, c'mere a minute!"

Mid-Spring might've been only days in coming, but there was still snow up there!

He'd gotten used to both the forge, and the man he worked for. The heavy blacksmith had made good on a promise from two seasons earlier. And since it gave him food and a bed all throughout the alternatively rainy and snow-filled winter; Felix did his best to meet the older man's expectations.

He was surprised to find that he enjoyed the work too, even with the sleet and the snow and the rain outside, maybe even more when the weather turned foul like that. It was patient work, rhythmic but satisfying at the same time. His thoughts never drifted very far, and even when they did, nothing they touched on really hurt the same anymore. He didn't need to work himself into complete exhaustion to fall asleep; he maybe even slept better now than he had during his summer in Hesperia.

The dreams didn't come anymore, or if they did he either didn't remember them, or slept right through them from beginning to end. No more waking up in cold sweats, running endlessly through corridors and passage ways, always towards nothing and still away from nothing. Instead he'd even found himself waking up with faint memories of pleasant dreams, happier memories, maybe even fanciful things he didn't put any stock in having happen in reality. His dreams didn't have to come true; he was happy just having them again. Peacefully.

He gave two more pushes on the bellows as he was called, walking over to the water pump and splashing his face and arms free of coal dust and sweat. He was tucking the heavy gloves into the belt of his leather apron as he finally stepped out into the business section of the forge. A wall of stones separated the two halves- display cases, and the trading counter were all kept in the front, the ovens, raw materials, and heavy money box stashed in the back where he spent most of his time working and cleaning up.

"Yeah?" There was only one customer in the shop now, clearly a traveler. Her hood was drawn up high over her head and shadowed her face, arms folded sternly across her chest, and she was tapping one booted foot impatiently on the floor. Owen was leaning over the counter, looking down at something when Felix appeared. He ignored the look the customer gave him; waiting for the heavier man to turn and show him what was what.

"Here, take a look at this." He said at last, straightening up and handing a rumpled piece of paper to him. A custom job? He'd surprised himself to find that he liked those tasks best.

Even if it was just a set of special cooking knives for the inn, or a spade with a detailed handle at the top, there was something to it. Practical and strong were fine qualities; the most important actually, but he knew the satisfaction of wielding a weapon with that extra flair and flourish. Owen had been right about that too- being a swordsman helped him greatly in the work here, at least with taking pride in it.

"So, y'say you came here to us specifically?" The blacksmith preened, causing Felix to roll his eyes from behind. He was smiling as he actually looked down at the drawings, but his expression fell immediately.

"Where'd you say you were from, little lady? Tolbi- no? Come now, you were all talkative a minute ago. Vault perhaps?"

"We can't make this." Owen bungled his little flirt before turning around and staring at him, but Felix couldn't be swayed, tossing the detailed sketches of an ebony scythe back onto the counter. The details of the traveler's outfit jumped out at him- the fur lining of the hood and cloak, the thick cloth of tunic and trousers, the dragon pin at her throat. "This's a Proxian design, better left to Proxian smiths."

He turned away and found a face full of fire. There was nothing he could do about it- it came too fast, the lash of Psynergy startling to his mind which hadn't felt anything of the sort all season.

"_By Mars!_" He heard the small bell over the forge door chime as it was opened, Owen's oath not making much of an impact as Felix held one hand over his face. He hadn't been burned, but the skin felt hot under his own touch. Had that just been-?

"Seven lives left you insufferable prick." He cursed the spring sunshine- she stood in the door for only a moment when he turned to her in shock. But the forge door just slammed shut so hard he could've sworn he heard something in it snap, or jangle out of place. It didn't matter. Owen was blowing himself up into such a fit that his new moustache was curling along the edges; Felix was stunned silent by what had happened.

* * *

He almost killed himself getting out of the forge so fast. Owen was still blundering on trying to answer the question of what the customer had looked like, his hands up on the sides of his head to imitate long, pointed ears. The smith was shouting after him as he left- something about grabbing his things before going, or what in Mars's name he was doing, but Felix didn't answer- _couldn't_ answer.

He couldn't see her, the spring had taken most of the miners out and away from Loho, but there were still enough people in the colony to crowd the streets at mid-day. The brisk sunshine was too harsh to see far, the stones bouncing the light back at him and into his eyes. There was nothing for it then; he just had to find her.

Gravel and half-cobble tried repeatedly to slide and slip under him, only his own innate sense of the landscape keeping him on track as he darted quickly down the lanes of grey stone. Every inn, he checked every single inn. There were several in town; most he'd never entered. It took him the better part of an hour to reach them all, each time staying for no more than a minute or two.

"Traveler? Like what?" A woman with a dragon pin at her throat. "Woman alone?" He wasn't sure; she might've had at least one companion. "Sorry, lad."

It was ridiculous on so many levels, running himself sick through the township, but he wasn't going to give up. Even if he was completely wrong, he was going to find whoever she was; if only to just tell her off for requesting a weapon better left unmade…

When he came to the small inn where he'd been rooming the entire winter, the innkeeper, Leslie, looked up and at him curiously. He didn't come with any measure of grace, stumbling in like the dead but still trying to put urgency in his steps. His lungs were on fire and he had a painful stitch in his side from running, but the inn's mistress just watched him curiously. Normally he would work much later than this, and would take the time to walk instead of running back to his room…

"Felix?"

"Traveler… woman… dragon pin…" Oh, Venus, he needed a break. Bending over he didn't even know if he was making sense or not, putting one hand down on his knee as he tried to make the air stop hurting as he sucked it in… there… slowly getting better…

"Hmm? You mean that young lady who just checked in?" His expression answered her, his head snapped right up so hard he almost thought he felt a joint pop. Had he just heard her right?

"Had several odd questions t'ask 'fore she put down any money for the night. Fancy that, foreign girl like her traveling all alone! Looked northern with 'er-" Leslie kept talking, Felix stopped listening; there was nowhere farther north than Prox, not a single hamlet, cottage or borough.

He was looking to the stairs even as Leslie kept talking, not trying to be rude, but staying put only to make sure he didn't make her mad at him. Was that a… candle? No, wait, it…

"Felix? Where're you-?" It was fire; a small, solitary little flame. And even before he set his foot down on the first step, he knew there was no wick or wax or wooden post standing underneath it to give it substance. It was all too much like a dream: but he knew for a fact that he was well and truly awake. He couldn't hope to imagine something twisted like this on his own, there was just no way.

Whatever the inn mistress had wanted to say, she let it die and went back to her work, grumbling lowly behind him. He took the steps slowly at first, hurrying up the flight only to watch the flame vanish and then reappear. He was standing in the narrow hall of the second floor now, and everything was suddenly very quiet…

Each slow, careful step he took made that tiny flame edge back just as far. Small and golden, giving off a flicker of red as it licked gently at the air. It wavered, it wasn't perfect, but its retreat was smooth as he followed. He was led right along to the only room with its door left ajar. If he'd blinked he might've missed the faint bit of movement just beyond, that one eye wavering in the curtain of heat, but he didn't.

The flame vanished through that tiny crack, and he knew it'd already gone out as he reached one hand out and nudged the door open with the back of it. It didn't swing silently, gave a small creak instead and got stuck part way. Having to actually push it open helped break through some of the anxiety, cut away at some of the tension…

"You've got no right to look so surprised." But not all- never all. "Idiot."

Her room had a larger window than his did, complete with a wide sill on the wall directly across from the door; that was where she was seated. One knee drawn up, her other leg left to hang towards the floor. She had one arm hooked over her knee, facing out through the bubbled glass towards the lively streets below. The harsh light still obscured her face, but her voice was clear to him, striking memories and bringing the past to life in his mind. The strands of her hair shimmered with the gloss of red apples; and the short, alien cut of bobbed locks had faded with time, melding back into the long tresses he remembered from three years of ice.

"I'm sick of being told I'm dead. Don't start." She dropped her legs, turning to stand and face him. There was nothing flashing in her eyes as she stepped away from the stark light, the lines of her face forming quickly, but not perfectly anymore. There was a long mark stretching across her brow, but hadn't come close enough to her left eye to disfigure it. Even from a distance he could see a scar of white against the underside of her jaw leading down to the throat. She bore the marks of her battles, the same as she wore the pointed red designs of her clan under her eyes and along her cheeks.

"How did you..?" She'd been waiting for him to speak, he knew it, but that didn't mean he could come up with anything meaningful. His arms were numb as he swung the door shut behind him; it closed much easier than it had opened…

"The same way you did." She snapped; her face grew tense as her brows pulled together, making the scar across her brow glow white. "If it hadn't been easier to just run off and lie, you might've known that." The words bit and held- the feeling in his legs followed after that of his arms.

"We said that…"

"A dragon had killed us; that's what you said." She cut in again, just as sharply as before. "That we were nothing more than blood on the walls, bits of chiselled bone. You didn't come back, Felix, so _no one did_."

Everything should've been so surreal, with a drowsy, dreamlike quality to it. Instead, there was nothing he could think of to take away from the sharp, brisk reality of the world around them. Every flaw and feature was glaring up at him from the floors to the walls to her hair- roughly sanded patches of grey-green wood, wrinkles in the stale bedding; the peeling of paint along the sill, the scuffs and cracks along the leather binds of her belt. Her clothing was practical but lacked finer quality- fraying threads along her dark tunic and undershirt, uneven stitching along the high collar under her chin.

"But you survived!" He found his voice, found something to make himself move, if only just a step closer. There was still the whole room between them. "You're alive, you made it back-"

"We _crawled_ back." It wasn't the words that put a clamp on his thoughts, or any gestures she made with her hands balled up into fists. There was a hitch in her voice instead, and a look in her eyes that… was that shine from the light of the window, or something else? "Agatio and I both, we had to _drag_ ourselves home…" Painful memories, he wasn't the only one who carried burdens and had overcome trials. Not only Vale had made sacrifices.

"Not one of you ever owned up to it either." He didn't speak, only watched her. Somehow the distance shrank again, but whether she stumbled forward a step or he slid his feet, he wasn't really sure. He couldn't even entertain the thoughts of dreams or imagination- it was too unreal to be false.

"Two years," She was shaking her head, eyes closed for a moment as if trying to wrap her mind around the idea, only to open them again and be staring into the far corner of the room. "Two years: and not one word. Not a letter, not a message, not any sign at all that you were going to come clean and tell them what really happened."

"You've been waiting for that?" He'd only accepted it himself… not long ago. And even then he'd had three years of contact pressuring him into acceptance. He couldn't speak for Isaac and the others exactly, but he couldn't see them having the same difficulties or coming to the same conclusions as he had…

"I didn't." She piped up quickly, "I hadn't been… I wasn't…" Hesitation? "Not until the summer, at least."

He shocked her completely. He had his hands on her shoulders, holding her arms. He didn't know if she had time to get angry at the contact, looking up at him in unabashed shock before her lips tried to curl back in a snarl.

"Which summer?" He spoke strongly, no argument from her, no bickering or fighting. She'd said her part it was his turn now.

"What do you think you're-!?"

"_Which summer!?_" He spoke right over her, giving her a shake- not too hard, just enough to make her look at him, bring those crimson eyes back up to his. "This one past? _Tell me!_"

"Yes! Just this year-_ let go!_" She said that, but instead of fighting to get away she reached out instead, grabbing the front edges of the leather apron he still wore from the forge. He didn't try to force her gaze again, knew it wouldn't be any use- she kept her eyes fixated on her hands instead.

"I… I got sick…"

"How?"

"I don't know- I woke up in the Sanctum-"

"You were asleep?" He didn't need her to answer, he knew already. The pieces slipped into place one after the other, not locking, but fitting too perfectly not to be correct.

"Coma, I…" He cut her off: she hadn't grown any taller since they'd parted ways in Prox three years earlier- after three more cycles of enmity. He was still a hand-span above her, but it was like another set of pieces when he felt how she just fit against him in his arms. No one ever noticed or remembered how small she was in stature. But again, nothing locked; he felt her tense so much he knew she was going to pull away.

"There was ice…" He said softly, he'd felt her moving to push against him, but she stopped at his words. "Walls of blue ice that shattered to reveal only cold stone and water…"

She wasn't looking up at him, rather to the side at nothing; he fancied he could feel colour draining slowly from her features as her strength wilted. Something in his words striking truth and stilling her, if only for the moment. With one arm behind her shoulders and a hand along her back, he felt her start to slump, knees weakening. There was the memory of something haunting her as she silently shook her head from side to side.

"That was just a dream…" She whispered hoarsely. "That didn't really happen…" He kept his peace, if only for a moment. She didn't slide to the ground or fall into a faint, but the tension had lessoned, one hand curled and the other spread open across his shoulder, no more resistance, no more anger.

"The lighthouse was cold, and all the fires put out." She closed her eyes so tightly when he spoke, shaking her head again and doing well to silence him by leaning against him, letting her face rest just under his chin. It wasn't quite an embrace, but at least he wasn't forcing her to him as he could –slowly- let his face down and brush the side of his face down into her hair.

"It was just a dream…" She smelt of traveling and mountain air… "I was dreaming…" But so warm… He tried to coax her eyes up, slowly, gently… And then Proxian Pride reared its ugly head- and she broke out of his arms so fast _**he**_ nearly fell over.

"What makes you think-" She began all over again, starting in on a new tirade at least as she marched off with her back to him, "That I can forgive that!? What you did! What you _refused_ to do!" He couldn't say her name to call her back, but he could still follow. Her voice sounded thick to him, and he didn't have to ask her to know it was more pride forcing the words out than simply anger.

If he felt childish she better have too. He reached unthinkingly to turn her face towards him again, only to have her hand come up and bat his away. He tried again and she did the exact same thing. Frustrated, the third time he caught the offensive hand by the wrist and proceeded to pull her arm and turn her around, tempted to grab at her ear if she continued to fight with him but settling instead for placing his hand to hold her chin rudely- thumb and forefinger on either side and forcing her head around. She was indignant, but faced him.

"You son of a-!" He didn't let her go completely but kept his grip on her wrist and moved his hand from a grasp on the chin to merely a hold on one side. That she didn't reach out to strike or claw at him with her free hand spoke volumes at the moment. The shine in her eyes had forced the rims to turn a furious red.

"Then why are you here?" Again, he spoke right over her. Not shouting, not angry, he didn't counter what she said about his parentage or stray off into an argument with her. When his question got through, she pinched her lips tightly and refused to answer.

"You went to Vale first, didn't you?" She might've answered that one, her eyes roamed away from him. And he could see her tongue twisting over itself as she rolled her shoulders and tried to turn away- he just brought her face right back around to him with a gentle nudge. He took that as a yes…

He stepped closer to her again, her free hand coming up to squeeze his as he let his fingers slide from her face. He let go of her wrist in favour of holding her hand instead… And again, he asked her…

"Then why are you here?" She lowered her eyes and he didn't stop her this time.

"Because…" She had to stop and take a breath, holding it a moment before letting it out slowly. She was looking down at their hands, and distantly he remembered the last time he had truly heard her voice- echoing through a link of violet energy, channelled through several minds before reaching him… Her hands were warm again.

"Because you were _there_…" In the cold, in the dark; standing on the other side of the veil… He didn't pull her in this time- eyes closed as she slid her hand from his and came right up close to him. She felt so warm when he held her.

"And what if it was_ 'just a dream'_?" He hated himself for asking, and she wasn't too impressed either, her arms hooked under his for a moment before she let out a sharp breath and pulled away from him again. But this time it wasn't a push and a shout.

"Then I'll take my order and leave…" The scythe…

"Well you won't be getting it from me..." He was watching her closely now, feeling cold already where she had touched and then pulled back so abruptly…

"Then I won't be leaving." And that suited him just fine, and he said as much… still watching, unable to come up with much more to follow his statement as she was still so… far away… and she noticed the distance too, looking him up and down in return before folding her arms with a sour look.

"If you're not going to rave about death and dreams, at least be happy to see me." Happy to see her…

Her voice had been harsh, a challenge he couldn't meet with fists and power. If she expected him to offer words and speak, then he surprised her. But he saw her arms unfold and then felt her gloved touch on the sides of his face and throat, and she didn't allow him to _'sweep'_ her off her feet, so maybe he was just predictable.

Yet the pieces each locked into place around him, a resounding click in his heart like that of a lock being picked and broken. Logic and longing collided, and warmth flooding him without any trace of Mars or Alchemy to be had. That heat gave him life, and he'd never let it go again… He'd never let _her_ go again…

_Because it wasn't a dream… _

**The End **

**-Roll Credits- **

* * *

**Title: Painted Dreams**

**Genres: Hurt/Comfort/Mystery **

**Main character(s): Felix **

**Length: 1 Prologue, 10 Official Chapters, 1 Epilogue, 55988 Words, 178 Paper Back Pages, 89 Computerized Pages. **

**Review Count: 25**

**Inspirational Artists: Hans Zimmer (Brave Heart, The Last Samurai, The Peacemaker, The Rock, Pearl Harbour, The Contender OSTs), Sarah McLachlan (Felicity OST), Loreena Mckennitt (The Ancient Muse, Book of Secrets, The Mask and Mirror), Motoi Sakuraba (Golden Sun OST), Evanescence (Origin, Debut CDs), Harry Gregory-Williams (Kingdom of Heaven OST), Celtic Woman (Scarborough Fair), And countless, countless others… (Koapno III, True, The Reason, What You Are, Into the Ocean, Ivory Tower, Live Again, Darcy's Letter…) **

**Published: November 28th, 2007**

**Completed: February 17th, 2008**

**First Revision: October 31****st****/November 1****st, 2008**** (Midnight-readings)**

**Thank you. **


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